The Color of Morning 20 August 2016

Yesterday morning I had a recollection of arriving in Rome. It was Friday and for five years I always arrived on Friday morning, sometime in late August. But the last time was five years ago. And yet, this time of year, I always recall arriving in Rome. Jet lagged, tired, and often culture shocked. But I always loved it, especially that first weekend before school started on Monday. I was most free, and always up at the crack of dawn, waiting for the jet lag to subside. But it was those couple of days that I could roam the streets without any obligations, I could travel the familiar streets of Trastevere, and see if anything had changed. Mostly not, things don’t change quickly in Rome. Those first mornings were the best. I recall the heat, the humidity, the grittiness that was the city Rome. But mostly I remember the light. The light was perfect.