Between Seasons: Finding Gratitude in Motion

Silverton in late fall is a study in patience. Everything is brown—fields, hills, rooftops. The town holds its breath, waiting for snow, for the season to shift. I’m busy, restless, reflective. There’s a quiet that hums louder than the usual clatter of summer, and it makes me notice the small things: the way light hits the mountains, the bark on the aspens, the promise in the air.