In November, the setting sun ignites red oak crowns and tints clouds with magenta, peach and rose. There’s neither summer’s long-lasting light, nor winter’s rapid descent into darkness. Dusk’s cool fingers seep in, chilling the air as the sun sinks in the southwest. In the tree tops, a group of robins roosts in a lingering sliver of sunlight. For a few moments they softly whistle their cheery song as though it were a spring evening. Time gently slips away in shadows of amethyst.