Driving in from Austin last night I leaned it towards the air vent as we passed the Miller plant. Oh, one of my favorite things. When I drive past the Miller plant and the Mrs. Baird plant (which are right next to each other) the wonderful smell of fresh baked bread fills the car and I know I'm almost home. For some reason I can only smell it at night. I work in Crowley on Wednesday mornings and never smell bread on my way home.
This morning I woke up at 445. I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. I tried to think of my favorite place. Il Duomo. The top. In winter. The moment I step outside. I laid in bed and imagined the feel of the 441 stone steps under my feet. The wind whipping in through one of the tiny windows on the way up. I remembered the familiar feel of the stone center column in my right hand as I push myself toward the top. I could feel the heat building up. I closed my eyes to imagine the paintings on the ceiling. In my mind I could see the steps that lie between the layers of Il Duomo. I went up the tiny ladder-like steps and burst outside into the cold. The wind cuts through my clothes and my sweat is suddenly cold. I'm on top of the world. Nothing can touch me here. I'm happy.
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4 years ago
2 comments:
What an awesome post. I love mornings like that.
You are such a talented writer. I always liked reading your journals back in the day. Put me right there in Italy with you.
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