This morning was drippy cold and damp, raining hard on and off as I boarded the train to Bern. I was glad I had worn my warmer coat, and wished for my boots. Fall seems to be coming on fast, barreling toward us like so many Swiss trains.

Wind tunneled through the ancient streets as businesspeople bustled to and fro; I waited, standing, in the rain for the tram to pass - to risk my life jay-walking, as everyone else does, over the rails.



It felt like home. Suddenly, without expecting it, I found it even smelled like home. That made me relax a bit, though I didn't let my mind analyze why - the fact that I was feeling it was enough on this day. Off to the left, Starbucks rose high in its regal building and I decided to miss my train and go inside, entering through a worn, Neoclassic door with a lovely brass handle. Everyone else was as wet as I was from the pouring rain, and I sat by a floor to ceiling window with my almond latte and looked out on falling leaves against the austere city walls. It felt like home.

And again - it smelled like home.