Arrivare a Roma

"Here lies Raphael, whom Nature feared would outdo her while alive, but now that he is gone fears she, too, will die."

-the poet Bembo's epitaph on the tomb of Raphael in the Pantheon

To behold the rosy glow of late afternoon light on the yellow-washed masonry of Roman apartments is to know one has arrived in the profoundly beautiful axis of Italian urban life. Long white curtains run along the tall, slatted hardwood doors opening onto a narrow ledge of a balcony planted with compact spring flowers. The curtains sway gently in the breeze and reflect the tranquil mood of this Palm Sunday. Zio Carlo's extensive, tidy shelves of books on classical subjects - art history, mostly - repose on the far wall. A Renaissance painting - not a reproduction - graces the entirety of the adjacent wall with a baptism scene. Darkness all around, the artist paints a beacon of light on the penitent sinner mid-canvas. I took time out to write this blog from preparing a plate of burrata with pomodori, sweet olives, bread purchased by the kilo, and parmiggiano reggiano good enough to slice and eat with one's fingers. I can get used to this life. I think I will return to my Peroni and finish the last pages of the pocket paperback I started on the plane yesterday. Rome, take me away.