Rome

It's the sinewy streets

that let you stumble upon

the Pantheon, penny-filled Fontana di Trevi or the Spanish Steps

Or is it the way your heels click
on carriage-carved cobblestones

that conjure up images of

centurions and tribunes?

Might it be the sensuality of dishes

so balanced in texture and flavor

that tears spring to your eyes

as the food slips onto your tongue?

What is it about this city that gets under one's skin and allows it so easily to set up permanent residence in your soul?

Perhaps it's the melodic language,
the unfiltered emotions and
life lived out dramatically in the streets.

The art of a well-foamed cappuccino,

or the beauty of fountains that seem the work of gods

for their proportional perfection.

The legacy of greatness carried
within the proud hearts of her citizens, yet stepped upon and inhabited by scrappy, stray cats

The unsung mosaics on street corners
passed over with the casualness

with which motorinos run red lights.

Might it be the smoothness of her gelato? the curve of her cuppole? the roundness of the 'o' when a phone is answered -- 'Pronto?'

The sharply-dressed but oft-mocked carabinieri strolling around? Or the rougher polizia forces badgering frustrated drivers amid the chaos of whimsical motorists?

Is it the sizzle of sophisticated men in tailored suits and shoes?

Or perhaps the production behind pouty women in designer shades and fur coats in mild weather?

Take note of the spicyness in casual encounters that start and finish with flirtation, and the way a woman's attractiveness is never left unnoticed by men.

Perhaps it's the snappy Vespas lined up
along the Lungotevere on weekend nights,

the frenzy of Campo de Fiori

the stillness of Piazza Navona

the charm of Via Giulia's ivy-hugged archway,

or the white-knuckled thrill of guarding your wallet in crowded Termini Station.

Might it be the jaw-dropping size of St. Peter's Basilica? The heart-wrenching scene of La Pieta? The bright clothes and serious stares of Swiss Guards outside the Vatican?

Riding the bus with nuns returning from their grocery-shopping?

Or standing in St. Peter's Square

hugged by the curved arms of Bernini's colonnade,

knowing Nero spilled martyrs' blood on that very spot.

The hush that cloaks you as you tunnel the catacombs

where persecuted believers finally rest in peace.
The wonder reflected in other visitors' eyes

as they take in the soft colors and elegant wrinkles of the Eternal City?

I will be forever haunted

by her beauty, grace and sensuality,

unable to forget my newfound appreciation of human potential;

being touched by divinity

and hedonism in the same stroke

each breath history-infused,

each step on sacred ground.

--photographs by M.G.H.