There’s something about March that feels like holding your breath. Winter hasn’t fully released its grip – the mornings are still foggy and crisp, the light still slants low – and yet. And yet. Something is shifting.

March moves through the streets in a slow, luminous thread. Sunlight lingers longer on the backs of coats, on the quiet swell of skin beneath careful touch.

February is often described as a bridge between winter and spring. Today is cold, cloudy, and drizzly, but it’s brighter than it’s been in months, and the days are unmistakably growing longer.

January has a way of slowing everything down; the light slips across walls, disappears early, leaving rooms and hours to fold inward. It wraps itself around us, those short days fading to long evenings, the world outside reduced to silhouettes and candlelight.

Began assembling this edition in the days before Christmas, but life intervened – as it does – with travel and gatherings, with champagne bubbles rising in crystal and candles burning low into the night. Now it’s Boxing Day, and the introduction I’d written has slipped out of time, no longer quite fitting the moment we’re in.

There’s something undeniably enchanting about November – the crisp air, the first hints of winter, and the promise of festive gatherings just ahead.