It has been raining a lot the last few days, but the weather has changed the last few hours. The rain has stopped. Every now and then, the sun comes out. And it is a joy to be outside until clouds cover the sky once again. “This was a floodplain since antiquity,” I remind myself as I am looking at the Mirna valley from my terrace during one of the sunny spells. A galaxy of muddy pools of all shapes and sizes glistens on both sides of the swollen river. “And it should be made into a floodplain once again,” I remind myself of all the ecological arguments against regulation of the kind the valley below has witnessed in the last forty years or so. “But not to worry,” I remind myself of relentless climate change, “all this will be a floodplain once again even if nothing is done about it.” The water has its own way of regulating itself, no doubt. “Wait a minute,” it crosses my mind quite unexpectedly, “this is still a floodplain!” As if in appreciation of my recognition, the muddy pools down below twinkle in light breeze. And I sigh happily: “Once a floodplain…”