A Conversation with Venice

2007-03-26T00:12:00.000-05:00

Are you tired? I say.

Yes, very tired. I am very tired. But tomorrow is another day. Perhaps I will be happy or sad or dreary or angry. I must wait and see when the sunrise comes.

What makes you happy? I ask.

Some days I am not sure. Some days it is just the light, the sounds of the bells and the company of the people who love me. Their feet cling to my streets.

What makes you sad? I ask.

Being sad is easier than being happy. I am sad at days gone by. I am sad at loves lost and gone. I am sad at lives completed, wasted or ruined. I am sad that it rains so much and my stones grow so cold. I am sad that so many people come and walk and walk on me, over me and through me. They make me sink deeper and fall short.

What makes you dreary? I ask.

I am dreary when it rains. I am dreary when the cold seeps from the water into my stones and spills into the bodies of the people who love me. I am dreary when the sea turns from green and blue to gray. I am dreary when it is impossible to separate the stones from the waves from the pigeons from the clouds from the fog and from the sky. That is when I am dreary.

What makes you angry? I ask.

I am angry when it is too hot. I am angry when it is too cold. I am angry when I don’t feel loved. I am angry when I feel my crumbling walls eroding into the sea. I am angry because I wonder what will become of me. I am angry when those who travel my channels cross my bridges and stroll across my stones do not understand me. They do not know from where I came, who built me and what made me. They do not see that I am a compilation of these things. Yet they come to see and ride and pass through which depletes me. I know they will not return. That is when I am angry.

a real phony or a phony phony

A Conversation with Venice