This morning, around 11 am, I witnessed the wind rustling through leaves in a manner that felt seasonally significant. The air was cooler, even though there was no perceivable evidence of rain. I was briefly transported to Graz, in Austria, which is where I was last year on the last day of summer, when, through the span of that September night, I felt and saw and smelt autumn setting in. Tomorrow I leave for Kolkata, officially embarking on the field research for my book for Oxford University Press, based entirely on my visits to South Asian artist studios. I-m excited. Also because I-ve never been there in October, and I-m curious about what the weather will be like. When I return, a week later, I will be getting ready to leave for Tramin, to be reunited with my partner.

I am overwhelmed by excitement. Because I have never been in Europe longer than mid-October, and this will be my first real experience of winter there. And since I will effectively be in the Italian Alps, there-s a chance I may even experience my first snowfall. I-ve frolicked in old snow before, I-ve seen light snowflakes, dandruff-like, floating, but I-ve never actually known what it-s like to see snow fall more relentlessly, to find the ground deposited by layers of ice flakes. My partner tells me the world slips into a special kind of silence when it snows, and I-m looking forward to such a natural form of insulation.