In the Quiet Hours: How a Simple Bag Found Its Way Into My Intentional Life It was one of those transitional seasons—late autumn, when the light turns golden and thin, and the air carries that crisp, clean scent of impending change. I was sitting in my favorite corner of the local library, surrounded by the soft rustle of pages and the warm smell of old paper and wood polish. My own bag, a well-loved but fraying canvas tote, sat slumped on the floor beside me, its seams whispering tales of overuse. I remember thinking, not for the first time, how the objects we carry daily become silent witnesses to our…