As if with a wave of a magic wand, Fall swooped in and turned leaves crimson, orange and gold. Now, winter has announced itself, and the trees are almost completely bare, waiting for their first skim of snow. It’s time to pack away the t-shirts, shorts and sun dresses and haul out sweaters, gloves and woolly socks.

Of course, I expected a change of seasons. But such a dramatic one? It’s as if God flips a switch and, poof! We’re jolted into a new sensory landscape.

During the Spring, Summer and even the beginning of Fall, there’s a noise and energy here in the Rondout of Kingston. Those seasons are filled with festivals, parades, and outdoor concerts that attract big crowds of locals and tourists. The streets fill with people. Motorcycles roar up and down Broadway (driving me crazy), and restaurants line the sidewalks with tables and chairs so they can serve alfresco. Every couple of hours, you hear the Rip Van Winkle, a large ferry boat that tours the Hudson River, sound its horn, bell and toot before pulling away from the dock.

But now, all the docks in the marina have been taken out of the water. The Rip Van Winkle is tied to the shore for its long winter nap. There is hush in the air, a strange, sudden silence that is both welcome and sad. Brian, the hot dog man, still shows up almost every day with his cart, trying to make the most of the time he has left before it’s be too cold to be outside all day.

This will be my first New York Winter, and I eagerly await the first flurries of snow. While I’m dreading the idea of driving in snow and ice, I’m honestly looking forward to this season. It was in Winter that I fell in love with New York and decided, yes, I have to live here. I fell in love with the cold and the snow. And the silence.

Winters announce the end of things, and this winter brings with it the end of my 25-year marriage. My husband and I are at the beginning of a 6-month process that will end in divorce. I filed the petition while I was in California earlier this month. There is no battle, no argument, no anger, no animosity. We are walking this path with understanding, respect and love.

I know this end of our 25-year season promises glorious beginnings for both of us, just as Winter promises Spring. But I can feel the promise and still mourn the loss. No matter how right this choice is for me or for him, it is an ending, a dismantling of something that once was everything.

So come now, Winter, with your short days and long nights. Come bring me that first muffling blanket of icy white. I’m ready.