When I stepped out the front door to take my dog for her usual post-dinner walk last week, I noticed it was nearly dark, though it was only 6:30 p.m. Now that we’ve rolled back the clocks for Daylight Savings Time, darkness will descend an hour earlier, and from now until March, I’ll walk my dog by the light of the moon. This realization fills me with dread. As much as I love autumn—pumpkin-spice-flavored everything, vibrant leaves falling like confetti, the scent of wood smoke in the air—the season is a bittersweet one for me, because I know winter is close behind.
It’s not like winter is unfamiliar. I grew up in New England and have lived the last 15 years in Nebraska. I’ve weathered blizzards, ice storms, power outages, and snow banks so high you’re forced to creep your car halfway into the intersection to see past them. Yet as each year passes, I seem to dread winter’s onset more and more.