This week a pack of powerful storms and cold rain arrived in Hungary, leaving behind it every emblem of Fall.  Walking out of the castle for a late lunch on Monday, I could see my breath hanging above the path then wafting back to the stones of the old wall.  And this morning, my running shoes were collectors of the yellow leaves fallen from the trees, and the shells of newly hatched chestnuts.  The ones that haven’t fallen are causing the carriage of the branches along the side streets to droop.  And every few seconds you can hear the click and tumble as one dislodges and hits the cobblestones.

The cloudiness does and always will remind me of Ohio.  And of course it is because I grew up in the northeastern part (by some accounts the cloudiest in the United States), moved away to the sun, move back again.  There is such a comfort to the kind of drizzly weather.  After the humidity sets and the rain stops you are really aware of the world aching and dripping around you.  The sound of it, like nothing else.  And though the sun is much more reluctant to stay hidden here for very long, fall has still arrived.  I think that most people here are welcoming it, though it does not stop the tour groups, the outdoor cafes, the park bench sitters with their thermosed teas and second hand books.  A pleasant change has come to the old city:  cooler weather, the sound of rain, the autumn colors cresting up the hills to the castle.


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