a haze of hot days spent seeking the coolest spots at the sound of cicadas.
anaps of laughters and diving
pic-nics with friends,
hands picking wild berries,
ice creams dripping and mozzarella bubbling on our pizzas.
and bridges, many bridges crossed of course,
The first day of holidays.
That sweet feeling of coming home and old time friends
And the light, Rome’s unique light!
It’s sweet to come back sometimes.
There are days when you’re in one of the places you love the most, at the hour that you prefer and with a camera on hand. People pass you by, friends may speak to you but you’re only half there. Your mind eager with anticipation.
And maybe it’s because you know you won’t get more chances for weeks or months, but you just wait for that moment that could – should – be about to happen as the most precious gift.
And if you’re lucky enough for it to happen while you’re right there waiting on the first row, that the Roman light turns that particular shade of gold and slowly paints the water below, the walls, the leaves – you just feel your heart might burst and you’re at a loss for words. There you remember exactly why you so often bother to carry a camera with you. Because one needs a tool to share the world, its light and shadows, whenever words are just not enough.
Sweet evening friends.
A weekly ritual, inspired by SouleMama’s blog: a special picture, without subtitles. A unique, everyday or extra-ordinary delight that I want to record and cherish. Don’t hesitate to share your link in a comment for all to see if you wish to join in.
never failing to be amazed
when a weareable garment appear out of plain rectangles of fabric
Walking on country paths I used to know very well.
The kids look so grown up against these secular olive trees.
I tell them all about how beautiful the mimosa tree will be in the spring, covered in yellow fluffy flowers whose scent can be smelled from far away.
Having lunch outside in the middle of winter
strolling down the beach
looking at fishermen and kyte-surfers
throwing stones into the waves.
I guess my Roman ancestors knew how to pick their locations.