It is piping hot this afternoon. As ever, the hotel terrace is the only place in Motovun to be in this weather. The shade of the chestnut trees and the light breeze make all the difference. But things are changing at the terrace, as I have predicted so many years ago: now there are sunshades that reach to its middle. The sun has become so strong that the chestnut trees are shedding an ever-larger number of their leaves to save water. For the same reason, the southernmost trees are losing whole branches, as well. Soon enough, the trees themselves will be in peril. As the crowns of trees are thinning, the sun penetrates ever deeper into the terrace. Whence the sunshades, of course. In a few short years, they will spread across the entire terrace. The shade of the chestnut trees and the light breeze will be history. And I will stop coming to the hotel terrace in the summer afternoons. As I like to say, climate change will spare nobody. Not even me, an old believer. For my sins, my suffering will only be double—first as a prediction, and then as its realization.