Day 2: Bassano del Grappa

A legacy post for the present.

Of the many times I’ve traveled to Italy, a few years ago I spent some extended time in a special place and challenged myself to write every day for 100 days. Anything. Everything. Lately, I’ve felt it important to revisit that practice, remembering these words as a challenge to never forget my voice, to cultivate what it feels like to write as an alchemizing force, and to have an easier hub, practically, to house those contemplative musings—all while making space for what’s next.

Until I know what that is, exactly, please enjoy this daily replay of present moments, past. Now was then. Here is now. Maybe that’s all we ever have.

Day 2: Bassano del Grappa

Nothing to hear but a rhythmic clod of footsteps on cobblestone. Nothing to say but puffs of breath that puncture the chill. Nothing to see but empty streets holding their lights close, curves of yellow zippering up the day as done.

Nothing to marvel at, except everything.