Back from Rome. Back from torrential rain and steady rain, and softness to everything, and spaces far emptier than they should have been.
From weaving through and under endless columns, from echoes of animal, human cries.
From descending into underground chambers where Mithras was worshipped with now chthonic rites,
From stepping into cramped piazzas, shuffling into tiny restaurants birling with waiters and trays of food, shaking the rainwater from our umbrellas,
From standing in hallowed hollows and light,
From splashing through grounds where Vestal Virgins once walked, lived, tended the city’s flame,
In short, back from all of this, in awe of it once again or for the first time.