I had meant to write. I have a whole stack of postcards â€“ even a pack I bought at a church that had obviously been taken in the early 1950â€™s – full of strong jawed gondoliers assertively clutching their oars and gazing over the Grand Canal like the early explorers must have looked out over the Grand Canyon…
San Michele at closing time. Row upon row. Modernist architecture mixes with the Baroque. A voice that reminds me of Fahrenheit 451/ 1984 announces in many languages that it is the closing hour. But before that the bells ring the hour, echoing over the water. The perpetual fountains stop their flowing by the same clock.
Water and Voices
Water echoes like a bell in languages I do not understand, I stand on the dock at San Michele while full Vaporettos pass one after the other.