The weather in Zagreb is as weird as it is in Motovun. The last few days have been drizzly and gloomy. It is nippy, too. Wherever one goes around the Croatian capital, one sees quite a number of people wearing jackets and raincoats. Many of them are wearing heavy shoes to match. Umbrellas are ubiquitous, it goes without saying. “Fucking October,” I keep repeating to myself. Still, I cannot believe my own eyes. Or skin. How is it possible that most of this summer has been just like fall? This is how it started, to be sure (“October in August,” August 5, 2014). This is how it was in the middle of the month, as well (“October in August, Again,” August 16, 2014). And this is how it will be through its miserable end, no doubt. But I cannot shake off a premonition that the next few months will be no less than glorious. Sunny and balmy, the charming fall will be a just recompense for the rotten summer, or so I appear to hope. Although I am doing my best not to fall for this dubious promise of natural justice, it clings to me with surprising persistence. “August in October,” I cannot suppress an occasional smile as I cast a glance toward the murky sky.