Walking home tonight with Leslie was funny in that I realized I probably haven’t been outside around this hour for about a week now. And it’s noticeable. The light’s changing, it’s darker now. Not only that, but we have clouds. Clouds. And not just clouds, but weather that threatens moisture (!). When we were driving home last weekend from San Gimignano, I noticed beginning stains of crimson across the leaves in the wine vineyards, starting to spider outward and spread. This past Sunday, the day that Leslie and I found a sustainable food market (i.e. largest concentration of hippies in one place I have yet to see in Europe) and the day that we both contracted the plague (that’s a story for the next post), I kept seeing leaves twirling downward onto the sidewalk we were walking on. Mostly what I wanted to say is this: somewhere in the last week, somewhere in between going to San Gimignano and standing at the top of a tower caught between Siena and Florence and staring (and staring and staring and sighing) at the rooftops of both, somewhere between spending the better portion of three days in bed while my baby host-newphew made baby noises all around the apartment all afternoon every day, making the apartment even cosier than it was before — somewhere in between all of that a schedule clicked and the season changed officially. What a fulfilling point in time that combination can be.