Sunday Evening Whispers from the Hills

There’s something about a Sunday evening in the West Virginia hills that settles right into your bones. The kind of quiet that feels like an exhale after a long week, where the crisp air nips at your cheeks and every breath turns into a little cloud of fog drifting toward the treetops.

Tonight, the leaves rustle like they’re sharing their own old stories—soft, secretive, the kind you only hear if you stand still long enough. The darkness comes earlier now, stretching across the hollers in a way that feels both comforting and alive. And if you listen close, you can almost hear the pulse of the hills themselves… that steady, familiar thrum beneath the silence.

I’m ending this evening with a grateful heart.

Wherever you are tonight, I hope the quiet finds you. I hope the air feels crisp, the night feels kind, and the world gives you a moment to breathe.

Stay cozy. Stay curious.

And as always—

Stay spooky.

🖤

Tibbi Ann Hardix

To every new friend of The Mystery of Cerise Falls, thank you. Your support, your messages, your excitement—it all means more than I can say. Sharing these stories stitched from dreams and Appalachia’s shadows has been the wildest, warmest adventure, and I’m so glad you’re here with me.