A maple leaf that I found in early October still sits, curled like a starched petticoat, on the windowsill above our kitchen sink. I’m not sure why I noticed one small, fallen leaf among all the others around the base of the tree that day. Daily frosts had already made summer a memory, and it looked as if wintry weather would set in soon. Maybe we can’t keep these red and gold days, I thought, and I’m not yet ready for winter. I look at the leaf now and am grateful that I kept it. Seasons don’t have to end just because the calendar page turns, or the first snowfall lays a white blanket over my sleeping garden. Autumn’s red and gold memories add depth to the sense of hope and gratitude I feel in this green and silver winter.

“It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness” is more than a metaphor for Lee and me: our holiday lights went up the day after Thanksgiving. Until last year, Lee normally spent four frigid November afternoons in our yard, draping multicolored lights over the branches of our maple and fruit trees, and climbing a 25-foot extension ladder to hang lights along the eaves of our house. Last year, I asked our son, Geoff, from Seattle, and our daughter, Amanda, and son-in-law, Nathan, in Moscow, to help their dad light up our yard on the day after Thanksgiving. That morning, all three cheerfully reported for ladder and ground-level assignments from Lee, and they finished hanging all the lights by early afternoon. Geoff made the long drive across Snoqualmie Pass again this year, for a family-centered Thanksgiving weekend and the second annual Hanging of the Lights. Josh, our 15-year-old grandson, subbed for his mom, who was ill in bed with the flu.

Lee and Josh strung lights on the smaller trees, and Josh used a stepladder and a bit of freelance climbing to help his grandpa hang lights in a scallop design on the lower branches of the maple tree. Geoff went up and down the extension ladder along the back of the house, with Nathan tossing him lengths of lights. I was in the kitchen, draining noodles for homemade turkey-vegetable soup, when I heard a worrisome thumping from somewhere above our ceiling. I really hoped the thump came from Santa’s reindeer as they landed on the roof for a test run before Christmas Eve. I decided to go outside, just to say hi to Dasher and Prancer. When I looked up, I saw my grandson and his uncle, sitting on the shingles at the edge of the roof, deep in conversation, while they set hooks and strung icicle lights on the eaves below them.

I feel ready for winter now. Soon Lee and I will buy a fresh-cut Christmas tree, more than two weeks later than usual. We’ll decorate it with jewel-colored lights, vintage ornaments, and the hand-painted picture frames our kids made for their elementary school photos. Second-grader Amanda’s sparkly red tuna-can frame belongs in an art gallery.

On a snowy afternoon this week, I was at our dining room table, wrapping presents chosen from a child’s wish list, as one of dozens of anonymous sponsors for Moscow’s annual Christmas for Kids project. In a season when many families are searching for light and hope, maybe we all need some holiday magic. An unimaginable crime has shaken our town. As Moscow grieved for the loss of four vibrant lives, candlelight vigils, flames in the darkness, helped deepen a sense of community. Lee and I have lived here for 12 years, and we continue to feel grateful for Moscow’s spirit of caring, its residents’ warm hearts and acts of kindness and compassion. May each of us remember to light our own candle, no matter how small or flickering.

Craft Rozen will keep her red and green maple leaf — the colors of Christmas — safe on the windowsill, with a garland of holly on each side. Her column will return in the new year. Email her at scraftroze@aol.com