It's called the Pearl of the Veneto. Something pressed into precious. Tucked in the hard casing of stone wall wrapping around the hilltop. And it felt like it.
Sometimes you really have to crack it. Rip out what's been hiding in the shadows, those barnacles of the soul. Let them gleam in the light, washed new by the rain. It's only then you can taste the sweetness. Like tiny bubbles rising through a glass, tickling your nose, rinsing off your tongue. It's a beauty all your own, and you'd recognize it anywhere.