There's a particular morning every year when I step outside in Ouray and the air just feels different. It's still technically summer on the calendar, but the light has changed angle, the aspens up on the mountainside have started their first flush of gold, and there's a crispness in the early hours that wasn't there a week before. It happens fast here, tucked into this box canyon. One day I'm still in sandals, the next I'm digging through the closet for a flannel I forgot I owned. And every year, this shift catches something in me too.