They’re mostly gone now, the visitors, the tourists. Swept away by a late-season burst of rain and the chill in the air. Out with the marigolds and Catrinas and jacked-up prices — “make hay while the sun shines.” In with the hint of calm and solitude, if only for an eye-wink.

It is quiet for a moment. The so-called high season begins shortly, as the first dusting of snow transforms parts north and the occasional residents descend for the winter rounds of social gatherings, fine dining, concerts, and art exhibitions.

People coming and going in San Miguel are kind of like seasons all their own.

This morning in the rain-soaked Jardine Principal, mostly the young were passing through en route to their work in shops and offices. Coffee clutched in one hand, handbags in the other. Striding purposefully through the square with barely a glance at the gothic edifice we call the Parroquia.

The Hortus Cafe was uncrowded. Time for pleasantries with the staff and a nice chia and fruit bowl with coffee and croissant. Moppit got a generous portion of the croissant. It is something she’s come to expect. She has so many entitlements — two biscuits on returning from a walk no matter how short, a biscuit from the perro-loving staff at Buonforno’s, a chunk of my scone when I sit on a park bench with coffee.

I sit at a cafe table at Hortus and wonder what the next festival will be, the next celebration of some saint that will require explosions at dawn and fireworks at night. The jazz festival, the classical music festival — they both kick in soon. The writers’ conference isn’t until February.

There will be lots to celebrate in between — one of my favorites Cafe Murmullo already has pine branches and twinkling lights over the fireplace. Last night, I went to the monthly prose and poetry reading at Murmullo and it occurred to me that this restaurant on the Ancha is becoming a beacon for culture and delicious food. If they want to deck the halls in early November, they must be on to something.

My own fireplaces need readying for the cold that is to come. Make a note of that. The down comforter is already on the bed.

I can’t break out the winter wardrobe, because there is none. Just a down vest, a heavier jacket, and a long blue scarf that never gets worn because it makes me feel pretentious. Maybe a hat. I could use a hat. Make a note of that, too.

“Breaking out the winter wardrobe” usually means hitting the Tuesday market around this time of year for a new sweater. I wore a sports coat out to dinner the other night, a wise fashion and environmental choice on the rooftop of Casa Nostra. I felt sooo … adultish.

Today it is back to sneakers, ripped jeans, and a plaid shirt. And breakfast and people-watching at the sidewalk cafe.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Another saint to celebrate. More fireworks. Six weddings in the church?

Bring it on, San Miguel. I like your style.