A light breeze blows
against my face, a friendly breath in the warm afternoon. I feel the hard, cold,
metal rail not meant for the purpose of sitting, beneath me. I hear the
splashing of water behind me. It is a constant gurgle of water hitting water
with a slap, a steady cacophony that soon blends with the rest of the noises around.
I hear voices, some many feet away, some directly in front of me. The voices speak
many languages and are in constant movement. Some are in English, other
Italian, but mainly they blend into a white noise and join the gurgling water
in the back of my mind. I can hear the shuffling of sneakers coming in from my
right side, they pass in front of me and disappear on my left. One loud American
exclaims “there is the Bernini restaurant.” Vendors draw nearer and farther away.
Only a few feet on my left, one insists “Hello Madame,” followed by an abrupt “No”
from a woman. The sounds of the hustle of a restaurant lies directly in front
of me: laughing, chatting, silverware jostling and glasses clinking. Accompanied
with the sounds of the restaurant comes the slight waft of Italian food cooking:
hot pizza, bubbling pasta, sauces of all sorts hitting my nose and making me
salivate. Every time a breeze blows past, the smell of cigarettes overwhelms my
senses, filling my mouth with the bitter taste of smoke. The clicks of cameras remind
me that I am seated in no ordinary place. The sound of water reenters my mind
as I remember the great beauty that that camera just captured, and perhaps in
that physical memory they just created with the camera, I am captured there as
well, a nuisance to the clarity of the photo.
(Piazza Navona, 5/21/19)
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