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In true been and going style, on my office wall I have a picture of Paris and a picture of Venice. They are tacked right over my computer screen so and I often find my eyeballs drifting over to them during the course of the work day.
I’ve been to both and I’m going to both. Venice is planned and stuffed into the starting gate, ready to burst through in two weeks. Paris is more a lingering tug at my insides that never goes away. It’s not a dream that I’m going back to Paris, it will happen, I just don’t know when.
What draws my eye the most in both pictures is the sky. The sky in the Venice picture is not really purple, not really lavendar or violet, but somewhere muddled in the middle with a little bit of pink pushing through. When I think of Venice, I remember standing in Saint Mark’s Square staring at the Basilica as the sun went down and the sky was the most brilliant color of blue. I tried to take a picture but it was the last picture on my roll and it didn’t come out. Not that I believed I could capture that tone, that shade. The color of the sky in the picture on my wall doesn’t come close either, but I think about it. I’m going to stand in Saint Mark’s Square again until the sun goes down and I’m going to look at the sky. I don’t even need to write that on my to-do list.
