For a week now, we have officially been experiencing autumn. The nights are longer than the days, extending their dark dominion by two and a half minutes every 24 hours. The air is turning cooler. Leaves and grasses are showing hints of yellow. We've even found ourselves reaching for a sweater occasionally, unthinkable a month ago.

This is a good development, isn't it? Everyone is happy to say goodbye to long, hot, sticky summer days, aren't they?

Well, yes and no. For many of us, the onset of autumn means feeling worse, not better. To begin with, there's the inexplicable feeling of late-September melancholy that artists have exploited for centuries. The 18th-century poet Ranko captured this aspect of the season perfectly when he wrote, around the time of the yearly "higan" observances, "The paper lanterns on the graves are torn/ By heavy dew in the chill autumn dawn." It's a sad time, the poet suggests, because everywhere we look in the fall we see auguries of death: cold, darkness and the decay that goes hand in hand with ripeness.