Verona, Italy
Falling in love with Italy was like waking up from a deep sleep- one I had not realized I'd been in.
There is something about the way the light falls, like wispy, energetic flashes of sunlight across the canvas of the candy-colored, faded buildings of the old cities; scattered amongst the abundant greenery, and cascading, through the old vines amongst the yellowing leaves of fall.
There’s a type of magic you can feel, walking down the quaint winding alleys, getting further enough from the buzzing of the crowds to just walk your bike along, listening to the whispers of past patrons who once walked these same paths.
You stop in a cafe, holding the minuscule cup of a traditional, Italian morning jump-start, your gaze adorned amongst your fellow caffeine consuming patrons.
You nod and smile at one of the baristas as you leave; a gentleman of probably sixty years old, you can tell he is quite a man of his craft, charming, with salt and peppered hair. He moves around the backend of the bar with the same grace and comfort as a dancer moves across a stage.
The sun moves higher in the horizon, breathing through the clouds as the day begins.
You smile to yourself as you rejoin the bustling crowds once again, knowing you have the day free to just wander.
As with many Italian cities, you have come to find that many if not most of the beautiful things you have wandered upon, often lie behind closed doors.
Pulling off from the main road, you find an alley, coveted in ivy that’s starting to grow crisp, yellow and red tinted from the growing pains of summer, as the season transitions into fall.
Quiet falls and rests upon your hears like the leaves falling onto the moss ridden, cobbled stoned streets.
You begin the steep hike up your secluded path, taking in deep, soul-filling breaths of the fresh, dewy, morning air.
Just as the sun finally breaks the horizon, you are greeted with the climax of your journey- a beautifully, surreal bird’s eye view of the romantic city.
Good morning Verona. It’s going to be a good day.
