« Not all that wander are lost » J.R.R. Tolkien

Venice by night, from above, is a spot in the sea you can barely tell from the sky / it’s a bus crossing a sad plane / pouring rain / sea smell / heart beating faster / eyes stuck to the side window / half-deserted steamboats / a city that appears and disappears / lingering / appealing.

It’s walking on rainy alleys / turning back / going forth / laughing out loud ’cause you’re lost again.

It’s a velvet curtain leading to yellow-earth walls / merry familiar tones that mend your heart / steaming dishes / toasts and joy.

Dozing Venice lets itself be sweetly tasted / silently walked through. It’s the echo of your footsteps / water splashing / the wind on your face / lights sparkling on the other side.  It’s a swinging bed / sleep falling over you as if you were a child.

Venice in the early morning is grabbing something to put on and rushing outside. It’s the sea smell / church bells somewhere / wind / clouds rushing by.

It’s your eyes full of wonder / water and sky / sky and water / all around you. It’s walking leisurely / smelling the air / deserted alleys.

It’s crossing a threshold and entering a different dimension / eyes open / lights / shadows / what you feel you don’t need to understand.

Venice is the new and the old / up and down / bridges to cross / water to bless you. It’s an uninterrupted wonder of light and colors.

Venice is this and a thousand things more.

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