My beloved and I will be heading for Motovun this morning. After nearly three months in Zagreb, though, I am not sure any longer where exactly I am returning. The tourist season is about to begin with Easter holidays, and the hilltown will get crowded fast. After a long hiatus, restaurants and cafés will be reopening at a clip. A few friends will be there for us, but many of them will be busy with the tourists, too. And that is about all I know for sure ahead of our car ride. In search of some comfort, I am trying to remember my house. My paintings come to my mind most readily, as does the view of the Mirna valley. But the house now strikes me as cold and dark. Even more, it feels remote and almost alien. Alas, it will take a while to get used to it one more time. The best I can do is to stop thinking about the whole thing. It is but another return, for crying out loud, and I have managed so many of them already. Staying together with my beloved, I have already spent at least five whole winters in the Croatian capital. Forever returning, I am a pro at it by now. Or so I try to reassure myself, but to no avail. Indeed, the best I can do is to stop thinking. And for true.