Riflessi di Gloria Sbiadita
Almost as well-hidden as the narrow calle that leads to here are gardens behind locked gates, unknown to almost every tourist, hidden like the harems of the rulers of the Levant.
But it was the reflection in the window that caught my eye—the one that spoke of what might have been.
It’s the air of mystery that emanates from the secret life of Venetian buildings.
How many stories had been lived and written within these walls?
How many what-ifs had become a reality? How many had crumbled into dust like the owners and the bricks holding her up? That she still stands at all feels like a proud miracle basking in the sunset glow.
With the brilliance of Venice on my mind, I walked away humming Bruce Springsteen’s “Glory Days.” And I smiled.