In my woods at this time of year the sun bows low like a Chinese man carrying a heavy load with determination. In the early morning hours it squints into my eastern windows like a tradesman seeing if I am at home before showing his wares. The sales pitch is subtle and polite and if my coffee is too seductive and I am feeling too cold, I may miss the whole show as he carries his wares to another hillside house. But sometimes I am intrigued and I carry the steaming cup across the kitchen to the library room which is on the eastern side. I set the cup carefully on a book shelf and take my camera to capture the sun's painting on the opposite wall for posterity.