Like stoking coals on a fire, in winter we reflect and look back on the past season. Tossing those coals and flipping them gingerly over like a petal on a placid pond, we mull over the coals; smooth and soft, but with burnt, crisp edges. Ever coal is unique and all have different languages. We can turn about and abuse those coals all we want, but the matter in those remnants cannot be changed. One thing`s for sure, the light is always there. Stay tuned...