Rome

The train hurtles. Rumbling. Shaking. Gaining speed. Flickering light and shadow. Vestigial Roman aqueduct out the window parallels our southern journey. Red-brown crust, remnant of an ancient engineering feast that unsettles and shifts the imagination and then makes it soar.

Today I stood in the Pantheon. In the center with the perfect circle that the Romans drew: a clear path of sunlight. Beauty that outshines the pious paintings mounting the walls and dusty saints lurking in alcoves: insecure religion painting its signature on the secular perfection. Caked powder and garish lipstick on a five-year-old beauty pageant contestant.

Up with my alarm at 0800 to drink in as much of the city as I could. I bicycled past the Borgia galleries (save that visit for another trip), the Zoological gardens, the Borgia gardens, then down, down, down. Spanish Steps, Trevi fountain was being vacuumed by maintenance workers. I chucked a coin in anyway.  The Pantheon, and towards the Roman forum.  I ran out of time. Checkout was noon and it was 11:30. I raced back along the winding and one-way streets, fighting traffic, trying to find the hotel.

Showered and checked-out, I walked towards the bus stop and stopped for a cappuccino and chocolate cornetto. At the last minute decided on a taxi instead. And maybe different plans. Maybe not the train station. Maybe I cross the Tiber. Maybe I can find my lawyer’s office again and maybe he is still there and maybe I can speak with him. Find out what happened with my case. 

He exists. The office is still there. He was out, but his assistant spoke with me and he’s promised to track it down. No hope of any help. That died long ago. then what? Curiosity, I guess. Did it simply disappear? If so, why?

There are purple and gold and bright red flowers everywhere. I love this country. I love it in the Spring.