Day 48: San Daniele

patience justice temperance fortitude

These are written on the modern statues in the center's dome. The place where hallowed ceilings umbrella glass candles, once tall, now melted short. Faith sitting in humble glow. 

My boots squeak. I'm trailing in the weather from outside, feeling puffy and juvenile beneath all of my layers. I want to sit. I want to change. Into a long dress with thin silk and velvet ribbons, something that gently muffles well-heeled footsteps and better fits this gilded scene. Made lovelier by the washing of centuries. Made holy by the silence that witnesses it. Made tangible by the well-worn tracks of everyone else who's brought in the rain.

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