I remember a dog with matted fur lounging in the shade of a collapsed arch, staring in a way that animals sometime stare that makes me wonder if the beliefs of Kantianism are nothing more than old wives’ tales spun from smoke and cinder.
I remember the faint smell of sulfur mixed with seawater in the shadow of the volcano that poured out its wrath by the bowlful, the golden urns of the gods spilling fire and magma from the very cradle of hell.
I remember the empty bathhouses, the villas with half-painted frescoes, the expensive red paints made from crushed beetle shells, the overturned tables and chairs, the uneven stone streets carved by horse-drawn cart wheels.
I remember the skeletons huddled in boathouses, unearthed from their ash-spun graves for prying eyes, for the rapid shutter of camera lenses, for the proof of their existence, as if to leer at the living and say,
“We are all nothing but carbon and bone.”
i really enjoyed seeing the ruins of pompeii and herculaneum