Thursday, June 2, 2011

Momentary Blindness


     The wheels of a stroller were crushing the gravel underneath my bench.  A light breeze grew stronger from the north side of the city, right off the Tiber.  The fresh air hit the nearby trees carrying with it the light sweet scent of a citrus fruit.  As the trees rustled I could feel sunspots hitting my skin as they peaked through the leaves.  I could still taste the mineral water on my tongue from my water bottle that I had filled up three times at the natural fountains that day.  I stood up from my shady bench and walked straight.
     The gravel was crunching again under my Converse.  I reached a wall that felt like cold stone and lay down in the sun.  It warmed my back and hair so fast.  I was near a couple.  They were kissing.  I could hear the soft and quiet kisses over the soft breeze.  The occasional camera click and conversation in foreign tongues didn’t bother me.  It was almost time to go.  A church bell went off in the distance.  I took in one last deep breath of pristinely fresh air.  This is my new favorite spot in Rome, and I didn’t even have to see it.  

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