Mid afternoon's gold spreads itself generously
across the cobbled streets and quaint cottages
that lead to the ocean.
A handful of locals wander without aim,
earthing at every step,
soaking up the vibe of this stunning environment.

Boats bob rhythmically in the dock
and along the canals,
with views of the ice-capped mountain range
that seems as though designed to be admired
by painters and photographers
and anyone who stops to take it in.

Palm trees line the parks
and marble sidewalks defy belief
in this otherwise rustic town.
Feet burn if walking is to cease,
like the sun is urging further exploration.

Shutters down on every window
keep homes in perpetual twilight,
hidden away in plain sight
from these everlasting summer days.
Shops close for hours to relieve those who occupy them,
and the whole town is on holiday
until the air cools.
Tiny cafes and florists line the roadside,
bursting with the bodies
of the relaxed and care-free.

Scooters buzz by and laughter abounds
in the perfection of the setting,
somewhere between the snow of the mountains
and the fire of the midday sun.

The sound of children playing
matches, perfectly,
with the sights of kites flying
and excited dogs,
running up and down the beach,
as parents and partners sleep
through the heat of this beautiful life.

Some days, there is no time,
and when time comes to move me on,
the memories become ancient,
all in a heartbeat,
making room for those which are still to come.

My business with Italia is forever incomplete.