Yesterday was the last day that all the watering holes in Motovun were still open. Today is the first day of the dead season, when the town itself appears derelict and deserted. Although one of the cafés is still open in the morning, which is much appreciated by all those who crave their morning coffee and a friendly chat, in the evening there is no place to go. Not a single one. But I am not complaining. Not in the least. This season is the best time of the year for all those who like their own company and who relish yet another opportunity to get to know themselves a bit more intimately. I am among them, it goes without saying. But I cannot even guess how many of us there are in town at this time. A dozen? Or maybe two? One way or another, we all keep quiet about the subtle charms of the dead season. It is perhaps our most carefully guarded secret.

Addendum (November 23, 2015)

The winter is nigh, and this piece entices disparate emotions. On the one hand, I shudder at the thought of spending another winter in Motovun. After so many winters in Zagreb, I am having hard time remembering the dead season in my, as it were, hometown. Too many of my old friends are either dead or gone by now, which only adds to the gloom. On the other hand, the tenor of this piece strikes me as just right. The dead season has subtle charms galore. With my yoga hat on, I can well imagine relishing it winter after winter. Far away from my fellow humans, I would surely reach new heights in my journey inward. Indeed, the emotions associated with these two visions are so disparate that it is difficult to figure out what to do this coming winter. Although I will most likely stay in Zagreb one more winter, the winter a year from now is anyone’s guess. Or the next one.