Sometimes

still I find it hard to differentiate between dream and reality. I write this only because I find myself often filled with wonder at my surroundings. Less than a week ago, I rode the waves of the canals in Venice on a vaporetto. I practiced my (bad) Italian and hummed melodies to myself. I watched a thousand facades, all different, fold into one another, seamlessly, a silent parade of colors. And in the night, I meandered through angled alleyways while lives rose above me. The walls were caked with the residue of floods and a city's dirt, but all roads seemed to lead to music and sound even if that sound was only the lapping whisper of the waters. I danced with dear friends into the first hours of morning cloaked in brilliant pink and masked. After a few days, I left that dream for another, the one I live every day. In the past few days, I've cut the dawn's snow with the rhythm of heavy feet on the way to work. I've seen the turns of Munchen (Munich) with a group of people from post and I have returned to my gorgeous apartment in delight.
Life is very, very good.