The weather’s turned bad so fast it was almost as if Mother Nature just looked up and realized that the calendar was showing November. Truly, as soon as the October 31 page was ripped off, the rains came. The morning dumps of water and the cold air came in so that it became a morning puzzle in figuring out what you were going to put on your body before leaving the house. I say a puzzle, because it would be obvious that by the time that you arrived in the office, you were overdressed and sweating from the layers. This is why the “cipolla” wardrobe—or dressing in many layers—is key right now (cipolla is Italian for onion).

And October really was a largely beautiful and luxuriously long month of pleasant weather. I’d say that it was actually too warm, and the bulk of us were walking around felt mildly bewildered about the ambient temperature. It wasn’t squaring with what we had in mind a few weeks back. I’d say that it was so pleasant that it almost became a topic of general disdain. Be gone, you too-hot-for-fall temperatures. Mentally we were all geared up for something, and then when something else arrived, it wasn’t exactly easy to savor. Especially after we all have come off an exceedingly warm summer period. 

And so this is how I have found myself half in, half out of my winter wardrobe. Even this morning I was scaling my highest stepladder in order to reach a box stashed on top of my closet. The box contains my winter sweaters-—only I was in search of one of the short-sleeved ones. Something that would stand up to the cool chill in the morning air but not so much that it would suffocate me as the day moved towards noon. And as I leafed through my other winter items– brightly colored jackets and generously-long sweaters, I knew that their time had not come yet. It was still this middle time. The shoulder season, as I the shops are calling it when they show you their winter attire.

But complain as I might, it is still a gorgeous time of the year. The horse chestnuts (or conkers as they are also called) are littering the ground, offered up the seed inside for possible sprouting into new trees someday. Back home, my sister has dutifully gathered up as many black walnuts from the ground and delivered them to my father. A huge crop that he methodically plants and nudges into tree-like existence. “You know how much black walnut costs?” my father the builder asks, “these trees could make you a fortune if you could live to see them grow up!” 

This morning brought more blowing sideways rain and bad weather throughout the region. Looking out the kitchen window, it was easy to think, “No way in Hell am I going out there today.” But then, the time and clouds passed. At midday we had a break in the skies and the sun came out. Today also being the first Sunday of the month, the most of the museums and cultural areas are free in Rome. I love the first Sunday of the month. It gives you nearly zero excuse to not go out and discover something new. And since the rain had given the city a break, we wrapped ourselves up and went outside.

“After the rains come, everyone heads outside like the snails,” this was the observation as we joined the crowds in slinking around in the limited autumn hours of daylight. We made our way to Villa Torlonia, and poked our head into La Serra Moresca, or the Moorish Greenhouse. It’s a small space—nothing on the grandeur scale like you’d get from visiting the Colosseum or maybe a Roma match—but all the same, it has its place. The architecture is inspired by the Alhambra—the majestic structure that my brother and I got to visit in the outposts of the Sierra Nevada. Shapes and stained glass that was sure to reflect light well during a break in the clouds.  

And so we went, jacket and scarves in hand, avoiding the many mudded pathways that Villa Torlonia was this morning after so much rain. And the modest greenhouse—just a bit younger than 200 years old—didn’t disappoint. And just next door, since everything was free today and didn’t require booking, we popped into the curiously curation known as that House of the Owls. Think Zillow Gone Wild on a bite-sized scale with loads of fanciful stained glass windows catching the light. The entire excursion had a pace that was just right for the amount of time for an ephemeral afternoon. 

I’m writing all this with full awareness that we’re going all head full into a season of tasks, expectations and deadlines. You throw the wild weather on top of it all and it can indeed become challenging to find the smaller moments that help to move you along. Especially when it’s getting dark so early now, especially when the rain threatens to fall at any moment and suddenly transform a routinely chaotic city into something a touch more diabolical. You have to take your moments when you can get them.

I’ve just taken my laundry out of the washing machine and if it were still October, I probably would have hung them out to dry outside as I normally would. But we’re no longer in that space of time and so the radiators of my house are now temporarily redecorated with shirts, jeans, and, more socks than I ever used in the summertime. This is November. This is where we’re at. 

I know it won’t be too long before, god willing, we’re all looking up and realizing that spring is starting to show itself. My father, god willing, will gather his rubbish barrel full of black walnuts and commence with planting them. And I’ll slowly start to peel away the layers of long tops, coats, gloves and hats as I realize that the world is thawing, and the moments of light are starting to grow longer. But for now, we’re here. I’ll take the small bites of wonder, and remind myself that they have their place too.