Everything has a tell—the last tiger lily still in bloom, the lone green pepper growing in the left-for-dead garden. I catch glimpses of the barely visible, like the sad refusal of a season to end. Yes to the wind. Yes to my child’s hand fastened inside of mine after a long, late walk, and my almost unwillingness to go inside the house on this balmy November night as stars flood the sky with light. In this absence, there is presence. The shift in the breeze reveals its true nature: the tiny gifts we carry out of this world we take with us to the next.