I think of the old as a husk, dry and brittle. Used up and mostly shucked from my body. Barely hanging on and ready to blow away when the breeze kicks up.
I don’t know why, but this little nook off of Via dei Coronari always catches me. It’s beautiful to be sure, and also no more than countless other side streets and hidden alleys.
Here I am standing with the Pantheon at my back and a battle cry of my own laying at my feet. After I left Portland all those years ago with my life in ashes around my feet I promised myself I was embracing my next chapter fully.
