April 25, 2008

Today is a festa, the day of San Marco, patron saint of Venice, and the day of the Italian Liberation at the close of WWII.  It's a glorious day, sunny and warm, and the wisteria are blooming everywhere. There are street fairs selling all manner of things, a lot of great bargains in glass.  That would look nice in my kitchen, I think, as I see a clear pale green vase, the color of new leaves.  But I don't have a kitchen anymore.  I do, but someone else is living in my New York apartment.  I've sublet it for a year, and now it turns out it will be for two.  Sold almost all my furniture, and have been living in Venice since November.  It was a long, cold, damp winter.  But that's past now. 

In New York, I complained about the noise, the stress, the dirt.  Here it's quiet, except for people yelling to each other on the street and children screaming.  But I feel closed in.  New York is big, Venice is small.  And the alleyways are narrow, constricted.  I used to like the womblike feeling here.  Now I yearn for the big city streets.  But there are wisteria right outside my window in front of my desk, and their scent drifts in on the breeze.