Walking Through the City

Dear reader,

There’s a particular kind of walk I’ve grown fond of that is somewhere between a destination and a drift. The sort of stroll where your shoes seem to know the way before you do.

Lately, I’ve been weaving through the familiar streets with fresh eyes. Looking up more often—at balconies where someone had just watered their geraniums, old facades softened and crooked by time, and windows that catch the last of the evening light. I pass cafés spilling out onto the pavement, strangers deep in thought, and the quiet theatre of people watching.

And then, just as the light turns golden, I meet M for aperitivo. A small table, something chilled, and the feeling that we’ve stepped out of the day and into a pocket of calm.