There’s a certain moment every October when Canada exhales.

The wind shifts, the light softens, and the trees — those old chroniclers of summer — take on their annual splendour. Golds, reds, and browns blend together like a Sunday country hymn sung in harmony. The air itself seems older — even, perhaps, wiser — touched with the kind of melancholy that only autumn so magically carries.

And right on schedule, Thanksgiving arrives — not in the brash American style, but with our own quieter dignity. A long weekend stitched with gravy, laughter, and grace.

It’s the time of year when we pause, look around, and remember the small miracles we live among.

Family. Friends. The clatter of dishes. The warmth of shared stories. The smell of turkey that always seems to find its way into every room o

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