The morning sun scattering particles of color off of apples, handbags, and Vespas, the sky-drunk windows above, the passersby pausing to browse.
Sudden art around every corner, hanging on the pause between footsteps; beauty so extravagant it leaves its imprint like sun-stars on your mind.
Oranges ripening in whispered conference with older, wiser trees over the heads of ancient walls.
Imagination and movement, the strain of Baroque muscles under stone, the rush of water underfoot lifting you out of yourself into a white marble thunder.
The romance and grounding simplicity of daily life—pizza blistering in a wood-burning oven, Christmas garlands framing an invitation to come, eat.
History in glimpses, framed by side streets and a melting sun; a white cupolaed church christened Santissimo Nome di Maria al Foro Traiano, magic and mayhem on the tongue.
The old and the new growing up and in and out of each other, millennia tumbling and settling around each other like an urban ballet.
The grandeur of Rome ringed in a pair of small blue eyes, this day already claiming its homestead in her memory. This.
Previously in Rome: