August ended with a spectacular storm followed by a chill. After more than a month of very hot and humid weather, the temperature dropped quite steeply and the air turned dry. Autumn is in the air. As if by order, tourists have vanished without a trace, but they are expected again in the second half of September, which is usually rather warm. On occasion, the balmy spell lasts through the first half of October, but no-one here is sure about the weather patterns any longer. For now, Motovun has shrunk to its actual size: some three-hundred people who live in the town more-or-less permanently. From day to day, one bumps into fifty or sixty of them on a regular basis. And this is how it will be through Easter, if not a month or two later. In short, I have my work cut out for me. This is my Motovun for a better part of the year. “It will be a bit boring,” people smile helpfully. “No, no,” I protest, “I have my writing…” After such exchanges, we nod at each other reassuringly. “I have my writing,” I nod again with added conviction. And then we wave each other goodbye.