The town is very quiet these days. Everyone is leaving or has already left. As I was walking home yesterday evening, it definitely felt like autumn: the chilly air vividly reminded me of waiting for the tram after lectures in Vienna. I suddenly felt very happy. These last days are very strange. Everything aquires a new significance when you know that it's coming to an end, something that I've been thinking about quite a lot (again) since listening to a radio programme on mortality.
I've been in and out of Oxfam, buying books and hiding in their academic room upstairs. I'm looking for that one novel that will hold my attention and keep me glued to the pages after months of thinking about two novels in depth. I don't think I've found it yet. I know that I will start reading Anna Karenina as soon as I get back to Vienna. Today I picked up Robert Macfarlane's The Wild Places, started reading it on my way home and immediately fell in love with it. But it's not a novel. I've also watched this film (quite good) and listened to this song a lot (a favourite).