Just a View

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Writing 101, Day Two: A Room with a View (Or Just a View)

If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?  Today’s twist: organize your post around the description of a setting.

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The sidewalks were not as crowded as I assumed they would be when I walked out of my canary colored hotel.  The sun shone over the tall, towering buildings, shading the river where the gondola’s were tied to the pier.  Warm, moist air fill my nostrils and lungs as I take a deep, calming breath before my walk.  The buildings across from me were bold and brightly colored, like my hotel, in shades of crimson, apricot and stone grey.  Balconies were decorated, some  with perennials and others with clean laundry swaying in the breeze to dry.  It was a glorious morning for a walk.

To my left, I saw a couple walking toward me.  The male wore tan linen shorts with a white tee and sandals, holding the tourist map to his face to see where to board the gondola’s.  His mate locked arms with him and looked to the sky to see the same sights in which I previously marveled.  Her turquoise and white sundress clung to her the curve of her hips and flowed like a waterfall to her feet.  The couple was breathtakingly beautiful, adding the scenery.

The alley with the stone path to my left was a shortcut to my favorite cafe, so I take it.  Whimsical blossoms in planters and vine-covered trellises  seem to point me toward my destination.  The alley looked like a canvas of violet, fuchsia, green and ivory, painted together in perfect harmony.  The aroma of the flowers was intoxicating.  All of the sudden I heard the ringing of a bicycle bell, warning me of its impending arrival in my path, so I stepped aside quickly and allowed the young man to pass.  With bread in his bike basket, he waved and tipped his hat, “Ciao!”

I saw the hunter green, scalloped awning to my right and I knew I was almost at my destination.  Diners rested beneath tan umbrellas, sipping cappuccino and belly laughing with their friends.  The aroma of fresh roasted coffee beans wafted from the open cafe door, and my heart started beating quick with anticipation.  The barista took my order and I waited next to the display of baked goods: amoretti, biscotti, cassata and pandoro lined the wooden boards behind nose-high glass.  I was just tall enough to smell the vanilla, sugar and rum emanating from them.  My name is called: “Aurora!”

I swirl the sweet, robust cappuccino in my mouth as I take my first sip, and continue with my morning walk.

 

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