Day 95: Bassano del Grappa

How to define the quiet streets you've never seen before and may never see again. A small cafe, waiting on the corner and filled inside with curiosities.

They served a tiny chocolate with my macchiato -- we were just talking about this. I plopped it in, watching the milky foam absorb it slowly, like a barge sinking to the deep. I'd like to melt like that. Sans fanfare. Luxurious velvet. My particles slowly swimming farther and farther apart, until I'm a just a sweet swirl.

Day 94: Bassano del Grappa

Simple things. Left unattended for just the right amount of time. There's a rhythm to the way one goes and one comes. A clink, or two, above the low murmur of voices. 

You need to eat it while it's hot. While it's right in front of you with the shiny oil on the cheese. It'll be slippery and messy; that's fine. This is life. Lick the salt from your lips and crinkle the napkin in your hand. Go back for another bite.

Day 93: Bassano del Grappa

It's a rare experience when the night feels short. The table switches from set to seat. The first bowl of soup to the last tip of wine. When the secret bottles appear and the napkins are full of crumbs.

Then they slowly peel off. One by one, the gate clicks shut. And you turn out the lights.  

Day 92: Bassano del Grappa

We need the fire -- that thing inside that fuels us. Changes us. Allows us to sit in silence, transfixed. Wondering what will rise to the top. What's the first to catch the flame. And what's beneath the ashes that we'll eventually clear away.

Day 91: Bassano del Grappa

Today it was the other side of the river. We walked where the sand dipped into the reeds. The water was clear and bubbling. (On this side you could hear it better.)

I didn't bring my phone. I left it tucked in the couch cushion. I wanted empty pockets and focused eyes. To really see the mountain's carves. To notice which branches were broken. The hidden vineyards spotted through fence holes and to find the animal that made the rustle in the leaves. The sunlight appeared in freckles along the way.

The path was narrow, but I discovered so much room there.

Day 90: Bassano del Grappa

This is my picture of hope. I want to remember it always. A moment when everything's clear, the edges are seen and felt. Cutting through the blubber of fear to get to the bone -- the good stuff. It's who I want to be. The skeleton in me.  

Day 89: Bassano del Grappa

Reminder: Go to market. The zero km one across the bridge. It's the same every Sunday, except when it's not. Because what the ground grows changes and you can't always get what you want. The seeds tell their own stories and you have to let the dirt speak, sometimes.

Day 88: Bassano del Grappa

It's the light that catches me here. Framed between the glass. The ordinary moments in a setting I wouldn't expect. Wearing outfits repeated for days. Not caring who notices because now I see it all beautiful.

I think they call that illuminated.

Day 87: Bassano del Grappa

I love going to the grocery store. Making normal out of something not. The semblance of home though I'm so far from it... but am I? I'm not so sure anymore. 

Home is a place you come back to. It also pushes you out again. Otherwise, wouldn't it be a prison?

Day 86: Bassano del Grappa

We discovered a teensy tiny bar. There's a window with a sliding opening. You ring the bell, order a glass and take your cup to sip outside.

Private, very private, parties can fit inside where drawers and chairs pop out from the walls, built with the precision of a watch. Behind the door, you've stepped through the face. Among the gears -- not just telling time, making it.