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Fog and fairy tales

Sometimes I forget I live in a fairytale place, walking with my thoughts buried in the mundane or simply failing to notice what has become familiar. But last night, in the drizzle and mist, there was no chance of that. Last night it was impossible not to imagine the people who once strolled through this gate—not Etruscans in this part of town, but still those who lived many centuries ago. The stone walls and portals hold memories of these lives and passings. I imagine joys and grief seeping into the mortar. I imagine love and rage drifting along the tops of walls to settle on stone and brick. I imagine life in all its fullness, an existence unaware of its timelessness. This is my Perugia.


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