Monday, 14 March 2011

twenty-five

Italy. Navigating the streets on a vespa, sketchbook in a satchel thrown over your shoulder. Pasta and pizza and deep red wine. Olives. Heat. Dust covered, sandal-sore feet. Pennies in the fountain. Basilicas and sweeping domes and orange groves and silent roads and a hint of peace in the heart of a city, sitting at the feet of a hero. Fruit from a market stall in the Campo de' Fiori, eaten on the shady steps of a deserted church. Walking along the Tiber in search of a breeze. Steps and steps and the baking sun on your shoulders and marble reflections blinding you momentarily. Cats curling around ancient pillars. Photographs of every corner and cornice. Tourist traps and off the beaten track. Open spaces and tiny courtyards and views over the rooftops that take your breath away. Everything you dreamed. And more. More.

2 comments:

  1. That would be lovely. To have all that you can dream.

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