Rome to Florence

As we left Rome, the sky broke free in a shattering of rain. The scum of Rome cleansed from our shoes, our minds, we move on. This life a constellation of moments, some supernovas, some simply stars, each nonetheless with a name, together creating a sum greater than its parts.

We have passed a field of dead sunflowers, their heads bowing in honor of our passing. Eucalyptus trees bend under the force of the wind. The clouds are glaciers, immobile, frozen, sharp. We are here, and what of it? To contribute or waste life.

Vines of grapes extend their tendrils like scarecrows on the post. More sunflowers. Their heads burnt in the scorching son, their spines broken, at peace, no longer reaching to the heavens, no longer a lion's mane of petals, they too have moved on.

Cornrows contrast piles of gravel. Agriculture and industry clash, a battle not yet won. In the distance a castle hangs on the edge of a cliff. Its foundation eroded, cut chipped away, another glimpse of an end.

And then we pass fields upon fields of baby sunflowers only beginning their journeys. Fresh, uncertain of what's to come.