Winter: I'd forgotten. It's slick, wet, shiny, carpeted. The leaves mix with the pine needles, finding the cracks in the sidewalk first, then confetti-ing themselves around. Sometimes, in the pause between showers, there's a bubble of warmer air; you can feel it in the clouds, cocooning yourself in the sweet middle.
We walked all the way to the bio-market, where fresh pasta in cool refrigerators gleamed above bowls of warm. Oh, those little discs. Pesto bellies anointed with oil.