One pine cone, one pebble
It’s our last night in Italy. Today we rode the ferry around the cinque terre. We only saw three of the terre, because I wanted to get back to the beach in front of our hotel. I spent the afternoon staring out to sea at the little lumpy islands, thinking things like, this is what they saw; this is what they heard. At night, we could see the Shelley house glowing white from our restaurant in the square.
Tomorrow, we fly to Paris. I am taking with me one pine cone from the Protestant cemetery in Rome where Shelley is buried and one pebble from the bay where he drowned.