The mornings are cold and the evenings dark as pitch, and as the tangled chaos of squirrel nests are revealed by the now-barren trees, as the grass grows stiff and brittle underneath the gnarled oak limb, the door spider curls into a tight ball and vanishes and the wind howls between the buildings, jangling wind chimes awake and invading my nose with the scent of coming snow. I’m having a very difficult week adjusting to the time change, as I always do, feeling on the verge of nausea and weariness no matter what I try to do until I can adjust to the new reality.