And reminisced of walking in Europe. In Verona, Italy to be precise. Last February.
Something about the colour of the sky…that particular “in between season” light casting a luminosity all around. And the skyline. The white domes and crosses of the old Eastern orthodox church that transport me to places beyond.
The temperature, too. Cool enough to wear a hat – the same black tasseled one – and gloves, and have a scarf wrapped around my neck. The sun provided an undercurrent of warmth, not enough for me to dispense with the layers, but teasing with possibility. And tights and socks…a colourful pair of SmartWools, ones I know I’d packed and most likely had worn that very day.
And trees, now losing their leaves; then, just beginning to consider budding.
With that “set,” I noticed how I noticed during all those days of walking alone, down streets, through neighborhoods, sitting in the sunny piazzas and markplatz, watching people, taking in the architecture. Loving it all up. Being.
Today I walked alone, down streets, through neighborhoods, and sat on a sunshine-enveloped bench in Little Italy’s Giovanni Caboto park. Leaning back, I looked up through the limbs of an old giant elm tree, and swallowed in the sky, now almost azure against the golden leaves. For several minutes, I had a foot in both worlds. Space and time collapsed in the beauty of the memory and present moment. And I whispered aloud some of my favourite words from Brian Andreas:
There are days
I drop words
of comfort on
that it is
enough to be
taken care of
by my self.