Transitioning into autumn is like drifting into a dream. It feels familiar, drowsy. The edges of my thoughts become blurred and things seem to slow down. I feel a nostalgia that brings both comfort and a sense of loss. I busy myself with simple pleasures: savory comfort foods, warm sweaters, cackling fires, hot baths and afternoon naps, when I can. It can be so soothing, so serene. But there is always the underlying feeling of unease. This is not reality. It’s a fledging respite between the busy-ness of summer and the paralysis of winter. It seems this is the shortest season.