Soon after I got up this morning, I caught myself thinking about my next trip to Motovun. “I have to be there by the twentieth of the next month at the latest,” I thought. Since all the bills are in the mail by the fifteenth, this is the due date for most payments. “Hey,” I perked up, “it’s only the twenty-fifth today!” In other words, there are more than three weeks till my trip, when I will go either by myself or with my beloved, if she can take a few days off. “More than three weeks,” I caught myself repeating jubilantly, “more than three weeks!” And then my feelings suddenly shifted. I felt sorry for the hilltown, that is. I saw it desolate and pining for my return in my mind’s eye. Perched on top of its hill, it seemed overwhelmed by grief. “Silly old man,” I waved my hand and grinned from ear to ear, “feeling sorry for Motovun!”