There’s a certain quietness to mid-November, a stillness that feels like the world is holding its breath before the season changes. The trees stand mostly bare now, their leaves swept into soft piles along the lanes. The air has that unmistakable edge — crisp, cool, and faintly laced with woodsmoke. And yet, if you stop for just a moment, you can sense something else in the chill — the very first whispers of Christmas. They don’t come all at once. They slip in gently, almost unnoticed. A glimmer of light in a shop window, a soft carol playing faintly on the radio, a wreath appearing quietly on someone’s front door. It’s that tender space between seasons — where autumn hasn’t quite let go, and the festive spirit begins to stir, quietly and shyly. For me, these small beginnings are some of the most comforting moments of the year. There’s no rush or pressure, just a calm kind of anticipation — that lovely feeling that something cherished is drawing near. Almost like hearing the fi...