Maybe you get the fall dreads?
They're the slight melancholy that arrives with the shifting of the light from sharp summer yellow to gentle, filtered gold.
They're the sudden sink the first morning you wake in confusion, thinking it must be 4 am rather than six, and you realize that the velvet dark is encroaching on both ends of your day.
They're that little spark of panic in your stomach the first morning you realize that there's a slight chill in the air.
Chill might be too strong for it. But the heavy heat of summer no longer surrounds you like a hug when you walk out the door.
The fall dreads sneak out in many ways: the too-often verge of tears; the constant simmering discontent that flares into anger too easily; the lack of patience; the longing for days past; the reaching for sugar, sugar, sugar.
People who don't get it - the godancers - just don't ever get it. No matter how much you explain.
"Why," they ask, "would fall make you nervous?"
They like to say things like: "But fall is refreshing!" and "It's not cold yet." and "You should go out for a nice hike!"
I smile (I try - it might manifest as more of a sneer) and think, oh, fuck you and your nice hikes.
Nick would be one of those people, used to be one of those people, but he's lived too closely to it. He can't feel it, so he can't empathize, but he can see it. He recognizes the shift.
The ones who get it, who know in their bones that while it starts slow, and you still have your tight grip, it's loosening. You need to readjust. You need to get a firmer hold. Get some help if you need it.
Because if you let yourself slip, the drop is a fast one. And the depths of winter are brutal.
It starts now, with the fall dreads.