Interlude.

The time of autumn's death which ushers the birth pangs of winter is a strange interlude in the cycle of life and, so I believe, just as this in-between period has power to imbue a man with a feeling of inadequacy, so it can invade into the being of all wild things. For a short time the birds and animals of the wilderness are subdued and more than usually timid; the deer walk much and are restless, the squirrels spend more time just sitting, dozing on their favourite perches; the winter birds fly more busily but their voices are softer.

R. D. Lawrence, from The Place in the Forest