In this sunshine
there are
as always the impoverished who strike out with careless hands for alms, dark of complexion and with faces crossed by the lines of their passing years.

The young one sits by the cathedral on the third step
perhaps tomorrow she will move a step closer, but for now, she rattles a tin, a few coins grumble noisily.

The sound of a mercy?

Even here in the most beautiful of places, there must be sadness and this is the balance of things.

A suited (albeit crumpled and old) gentleman sits by the gates of the museum and sings softly,
I listen to the music in his eyes and drop some coin into the cap so casually placed at his side.

And walking through these streets there are memories I make to bring home and taste of later.

Bustle
as the city lives
and in each
the dream
gives
new life.

Who walks with spirits of those who walked before walks with a measured pace.

I am too quick at times to notice anything but the footsteps.

I leave my shadow in these ancient alleyways,
a place to return to and renew friendships.