It´s mid November and the weather is changed. It´s five o´clock in the evening and darkening earlier and earlier, as it should. In the Yucatan the passage from one season to the next is subtle. Unlike Connecticut, where an Indian summer first day of school mocks scratchy new clothes and patent leather shoes, so that after and for the next few weeks children revert to the rags and sandals they´ve nearly work out from three months of sunshine free play. One Friday your face was flushed from the jacket your mom made you wear home from field practice, and the very next morning you are freezing in your favorite dress and you can`t ride your bike home fast enough to get warm. Here otoño slips in sidways every other afternoon. An aberrant breeze from a Norte, a delicious respite, 80 degrees. It is cooler. And dark now; that happened fast. The light remains the same it seems, light so late you wonder whether the earth rotates here at all, until you see one day at 5, that shadows cast by sculptures along the Paseo are long and lean. Again you receive the gift of liminal time, after afternoon but before dinner, when it´s dark but not late and your thoughts are unhinged, happy and autumnal. This is what I´ve noticed today.