Morning. September 24th. The sky breathes freshness, coldness and something old and new at the same time: the spiral of life turns another round, returning all the same sensations that it did a year ago, when I first moved to the Balkans, but life is completely different.
In the cone where I eat breakfast, all I talk about is the rain that passed at night. The voices of Montenegrins rustle slowly, throwing the word “kiša” from underfoot like an autumn leaf. Under a singing Serbian voice moaning about Belgrade, a little red kitten sleeps on the bench opposite me. Comfortable, free and sad in September. This is the third morning of Montenegrin autumn.