There is something truly delicious about lying in bed here in Genova, listening as the street comes alive, my windows open behind shutters closed for privacy ...
I hear the first footsteps ... quiet voices followed by louder voices as people roll up the metal doors of their workplace. The clank of the coffee cups hitting saucers begins soon after.
I doze a while longer then wake again, this time to the laughter of men at the cafe below. I imagine them stopping for an espresso as they head off to work ... friends who meet everyday on their way ... and I envy them their routine for a moment.
There's music but I nap just a little longer ... until it becomes impossible to ignore my craving for one perfect crema brioche with an espresso. I pull on my clothes and head out, almost into a neighbour. She laughs and apologises in Italian. I reply in French for some early-morning-not-quite-awake-reason.
I don't speak French.
The Bonjour feels strange in my mouth and I only recover when I find her holding the street door open for me. And I say, Grazie, and smile, located in place and time.
I have some days without shape or form ahead of me. Days where I can organise the creative chaos that is a part of my everyday life. I have been waiting so long to reach this place of peace and isolation, located in the midst of the everyday noise of the beloved ancient city.
Here, back in Genova, I'm always a little off-balance and some days shyness will find me more easily. But it is so very good to be back here again ... good to be writing again.
