Between the Lines

This morning was overcast again—soft grey light, no sign of the sun. I got up around 6:00 a.m., which felt like a small triumph. A year ago, inspired by Gwyneth Paltrow of all people, I was part of the proud 5:00 a.m. Club. And it actually worked—I felt accomplished and oddly serene at that hour. These days, though, 6:00 a.m. feels just fine.

After my usual coffee, I decided to head out for a walk. I put on my transparent plastic raincoat from Twinset—very chic, very practical—and off I went. And truly, I’m glad I did. I made a quick stop at a Caffè for a cappuccino and croissant (my stomach insisted on the croissant), then continued to the park for a short, brisk walk.

On the way back, though, the rain turned serious. It started to pour—really pour. My raincoat did its best, but I still ended up seeking shelter under the gate of a private building, completely soaked. The romantic idea of walking in the rain is lovely in theory, and even for the first five minutes. But once it’s drenching you down to the socks, the charm fades quickly.

Back home, I took a hot, comforting shower, did a few chores, and then ventured out again—this time to the farmer’s market. I always enjoy going. The stalls are vibrant and familiar: fresh fish, vegetables, cheeses, eggs, and a wonderful little flower stand. Today I picked up some shrimp, a tuna steak, and, on impulse, a big bunch of lilies for the house. They are glorious—tall and bold, a statement of cheer against the dreary sky.

As for the grey day—it wasn’t all bad. I tried to see the beauty in it. Even the rain, while inconvenient, had its own presence. At least at the beginning, it offered a kind of softness, a hush. And then, once home, there was the comfort of dry clothes, warm food, and flowers on the table.

One thing still on my mind: too many of my favorite cafés have closed. I miss the feeling of having a regular place—a place to pause mid-walk, to sit with a cappuccino or aperitif, to read or write or just be. I think it’s time to adopt a new favorite, somewhere nearby. Familiarity takes time, but once it settles in, it becomes part of the day’s rhythm.

And I miss that rhythm.