This morning, early evening

Autumn is rushing in here as cold maritime arctic air spills south. The big porcini push is over. Neighbours G and S brought us some beautiful mountain porcini to go with our lower, hotter-ground black porcini. Both are delicious. We gave walnuts and squash in return. Buoyant days of breeze and cloudy, clear-sighted light. There is an elegiac feel in the air as we tip away from the sun. People view the house and this yet-another season could turn to be the last. I don’t know if I could say I poured my heart and soul in, that this is the house of my father’s heart (il coure del mio babbo) but even the thought of leaving is pretty tough. Although until that is an actuality who knows how tough or what new doors opening will feel like. What was it Antonio Gramsci said, ‘The old is dying and yet the new cannot yet be born’?