As far as I am concerned, the year is divided into two seasons of roughly equal length: the sandal season and the shoe season. The divide is sharp and clear in my mind. As well as in my heart. Both in Motovun and Zagreb, my two homes at this stage of my life, the former usually starts in mid-March and the latter in mid-September. The sandal season started about a fortnight late this year, though. And so has the shoe season, as it turns out. “Sad news,” I just sent a mobile-phone text-message to my beloved, “I am wearing shoes!” When we went out for our morning coffee before her day at the office, I was wearing sandals still. But it started raining before noon. The temperature dropped appreciably, as well. I left my wet sandals at home and pulled out my socks and shoes. I also pulled out my fleece. To be on the safe side, I put a small umbrella into my knapsack. The shoe season is definitely upon us. Sad news, indeed. Except that the next sandal season is only half a year ahead.

Addendum (July 6, 2016)

As I was reading this piece, which I came across entirely by chance, I kept checking the date when it was written. That was a bit less than four years ago, but the piece now strikes me as considerably older, and maybe even a decade older than it happens to be. The sandal season used to stretch from mid-March to mid-September when I moved to Motovun thirteen years ago. The weather has changed in the meanwhile. Quite dramatically, too. What is worse, the sandal season and the shoe season do not have any clear beginning or end any longer. Now I decide what to wear on a daily basis. My shoes and sandals are often right next to each other most of the year. On occasion, I change them a few times a day depending on changes in the weather. In other words, the very division of the year into two seasons in terms of footwear is history already. And this is how it is likely to be for the rest of my days. Sad news, to be sure.