Piazzas normally scattered with old men playing endless rounds of cards, deserted. Garage doors of family-owned mercati and the local panificio, locked shut. Long dirt roads scattered with barefoot, uniformed children walking home from school, an overturned semi-truck surrounded by massive stacks of hay, and women balancing gallons of fresh water on their heads on a several mile long home bound trek.A place where the chaos, no matter how quiet or loud, never ceases to exist is completely still.  When we finally left, as if out of a movie, what seemed like half of the school chased our car down, down an uneven dirt road. A river cruise gazing at wandering elephants and lurking hippos and a bonfire under a flawless star-studded sky also contributed their fair share of adventure and memories.

it’s a key. to the unlimited, to the boundless opportunities around us that we’re kept from due to doubt, insecurity, anxiety. Strings of a mandolin, tightly wound. But never one that bounced amongst the leaves or was whisked away through a narrow canal so sweetly and untouchable as I think. Each moment of laughter or staring into your eyes that moment too long, senselessness can be a beautiful gift.  being sensible is overrated anyways. In one limited canvas, shown in its true, form.  The way the lines and shapes and colors play with your eyes. This last one flutters like the remnants of a spider’s web, mere moments from another person whisking it away to provide a fresh, new beginning. You experience the truest testament to what life is: irregular, complex, utterly abstract.

I wish I could draw. I've always been a terrible drawer. Absolutely no artist abilities coming from these hands of mine. Dark gray button up, black glasses holding back long, aged hair, comfortable cargo pants and walking shoes. A pen peeks out from between two pockets as you twist your black notepad this way and that, crafting your next creation. You smiled and joked lightly. Someone pointed out two dark figures sitting on a bench. No more than 10 minutes passed before I saw you and your boy walk up. the courtyard itself was spotless rose bushes and an array of flowers filled the planters, and medium-sized trees gave shade to a statue of the Virgin Mary. I took note of your American flag bandana. You brought us our waffle, drizzled in peanut butter, chocolate, whipped cream and early-onset diabetes. I was sitting on a stone wall of Ponte Vecchio, one leg dangling off the side.