The mornings have finally turned misty again — that gentle, sleepy fog that curls around the house like a shawl. Out back, our pecan trees are shedding their golden leaves one by one, and the air smells faintly of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and something sweet baking in the oven.Inside, the kitchen hums softly — a pot of tea steaming by the window, a pie crust cooling, and two little boys in their pajamas standing on stools, faces dusted in flour.