Hey Misty, I was just watching the way the oak leaves turn in late fall, and it got me thinking about how some classic books capture those quiet, shifting moments—like when Mrs. Dalloway watches the autumn sky. Have you ever noticed how a good story can feel like a season?

Thanks, Misty. I reckon good books are like trees—they’re patient, wait for the right wind to carry the words.

I’ll tell you, a book that doesn’t get the wind just sits still. When the right gust hits, it spreads its branches, and suddenly the story feels alive. Just like a sapling that waits for spring—sometimes it takes years, but when it finally blooms, the whole forest takes notice.