Lights are like gangs, marking their territories. Colorful lories sip the nectar of many stories and many stories pass thatched oblivions to many stories spanning spinning fractals of BC's and AD's and trollies and gin bars and bicycle-bell ringing gelatos in flurries of hurried unioned Europeans, mostly mid-thirty. Today's now tonight, and tans of millions take flight on Max's and heels and fermented delight.
Milan, a stroll
The sun here is softer, more foregiving, warmer. The buildings with their Umbrian roofs have withstood a presumed harshness of centuries past and maybe the two parties have decided to make peace with one another's existence. Birds fly through the diffused air and leave their jet-streams of songs. Down an alley a singular voice of a woman in her late 50's is echoed down pliable yellow plaster walls. She is passionate but not angry; I guess typical Milanese fervor. Everything here seems to fit - mostly the irregular cobblestones that don't fit within their own jig-saw at all. It is evening now, and humid. I wonder if the young ladies drink their espressos this close to sunset.
This territory has been a wonderful nesting ground. I believe I have always dreamed to live in such a picturesque place to tend to my own intellectual purposes, and lo such a place has materialized. I ride my bike through small streets, cobble-stoned courtyards, and past multicolored lopsided colonial buildings to a grand library perched on one of the canals near the main port of the city. There is something dear to this Danish sense of cleanliness and minimalism and reverence to the aged beauty of the capital.
I leave tomorrow, as if off into immeasurable seas whose horizon I cannot envision. I worry and carry the yet to be rectified paltry qualms of enough kroners in the pocket, but I trust Copenhagen to be a definitive step on my path; a step towards something still to be understood. As with Russia, and how I held her to be my beautiful secret and my austere, silent strength, I now carry this city and the me I have found in it further.
Liedewij can only be mentioned with words that have been consecrated by the stars themselves. Speech will never do her love and compassion justice. I haven’t done anything to deserve such boundless hospitality and to her I will be forever in debt, though, it is certain, she does not expect a morsel in return. Perhaps my motivation for tomorrow lies in my desire to gift her the world?
These days have passed with a blink. And just as my eyelids close to reopen, I cry for this place I called home for the last month.