I like this season, actually: the dry early winter before snow. A certain timelessness to the subsiding leaf piles, ground to powder in the gutters (sometimes; and sometimes frozen lumps in the middle of the street) and the tidily or not so tidily raked yards, and the uniform grey, a designer colour that doesn't yet depress. Add precipitation and it depresses in spades, of course; but dry it references Tokyo and (for no good reason) the archetypal Japan-reading December of 1985, one of the happier periods in my life.
Something I don't get: in books someone has the shock of seeing someone who looks 'just like them' and everyone says 'Are you sure you're not twins?' and there's talk of doppelgangers and so on. But if you see someone who looks just like yourself-- someone with your face-- other people won't see the resemblance: because for 99% of the human race 'my face' is the one they see reversed in mirrors. That's one reason why your own photograph looks so weird: '*that*'s not me.' (The colours and the camera weight gain are the others. My face in the mirror doesn't have red blotches; my face in photographs always does.) Others seeing your mirror face will have the same odd sense of 'that looks familiar but it isn't her' that you get from seeing photographs of yourself. So the schtick in my current reading is something I will take with a bit of scepticism.