When you're only half way up...
"There's another one!" Theo crowed. "That's, what, 18?"
"About," Peggie said wearily. "We all get it, Theo. There are a lot of sunflower fields. We know. You can stop counting." There were a lot of sunflower fields, but they never ceased to amaze Rita. Every time they passed one, her eyes were arrested by the sight of all the yellow flowers, faces pointed at the sun in obvious affection. Rita imagined they were little people who worshiped the sun, and that was why they were always facing it. She knew all about auxins and phototropism, but she still liked her reasoning better. She pressed her face against the window like a little girl, leaving small but distinct nose marks. She waited until no one was looking, and took a picture of the sunflowers. Theo did notice, but he only gave his lopsided smile, and stopped telling Rita how corny people were to take pictures all the time.
Rita remembered from art appreciation class that after artists went to Italy their palattes changed entirely. Where before they had used beige and burgundy, dark green and grey, after they went to Italy they began using turquoise, orange, salmon, and ultramarine. Seeing the landscape in front of her, Rita knew why. It was so completely different. In America the grass was green. In Italy it could be any color! Brown, pinkish, aqua, or light blue, depending on where you were. The hills and plains were so majestic and ancient while still being bold and striking. There were palm trees of every size, from the squat, short ones to the tall, slender ones. The dust on the road was red, and the sky was eye piercing blue for as far as she could see. She couldn't take her eyes away from the window, and for the first time in her life wished that she could draw. She suddenly understood why all the great artists had lived in Italy at some point. She understood why they would spend so much time away from their homes and families. They wanted to be here. And Rita wondered what would happen if she followed the examples of so many, and stayed in Italy.
"Rita, we're getting out. There's a spectacular view of Florence." Nicole was looking dazed, her eyes glazed over and the notebook sitting beside her filled with pages of bubbly handwriting. She pulled on Rita's arm a little before moving on. Rita came to herself with a jolt, and jumped out of her seat so quickly she tripped over her backpack. She didn't take the time to carefully extract herself, she just scooped up whatever was hanging off her and ran out of the bus. As soon as she saw what awaited her, she stopped dead.
All she could see was red roofs and blue sky. Hundreds of red roofs spread out before her, some grand domes, some homely and cracking. She could see where the street poked out, could see the crazy drivers and the mopeds, but only barely, and all was silent. A bird sang somewhere nearby, but even that was muted, as if the whole world had paused for one magical moment. Rita took a deep breath, and felt the sun shine on her cheeks. She felt warm, and when she closed her eyes for a moment, the golden sun beat against her eye lids, and she thought she was in heaven. She inhaled again, and smelled pasta and pizza, dust and history, setting her imagination free. She was too happy to smile. She was too happy to laugh. All she could do was stand, feeling as if she'd never been alive before, while tears poured down her cheeks. She felt homesick for this place without leaving. How could she leave?
"About," Peggie said wearily. "We all get it, Theo. There are a lot of sunflower fields. We know. You can stop counting." There were a lot of sunflower fields, but they never ceased to amaze Rita. Every time they passed one, her eyes were arrested by the sight of all the yellow flowers, faces pointed at the sun in obvious affection. Rita imagined they were little people who worshiped the sun, and that was why they were always facing it. She knew all about auxins and phototropism, but she still liked her reasoning better. She pressed her face against the window like a little girl, leaving small but distinct nose marks. She waited until no one was looking, and took a picture of the sunflowers. Theo did notice, but he only gave his lopsided smile, and stopped telling Rita how corny people were to take pictures all the time.
Rita remembered from art appreciation class that after artists went to Italy their palattes changed entirely. Where before they had used beige and burgundy, dark green and grey, after they went to Italy they began using turquoise, orange, salmon, and ultramarine. Seeing the landscape in front of her, Rita knew why. It was so completely different. In America the grass was green. In Italy it could be any color! Brown, pinkish, aqua, or light blue, depending on where you were. The hills and plains were so majestic and ancient while still being bold and striking. There were palm trees of every size, from the squat, short ones to the tall, slender ones. The dust on the road was red, and the sky was eye piercing blue for as far as she could see. She couldn't take her eyes away from the window, and for the first time in her life wished that she could draw. She suddenly understood why all the great artists had lived in Italy at some point. She understood why they would spend so much time away from their homes and families. They wanted to be here. And Rita wondered what would happen if she followed the examples of so many, and stayed in Italy.
"Rita, we're getting out. There's a spectacular view of Florence." Nicole was looking dazed, her eyes glazed over and the notebook sitting beside her filled with pages of bubbly handwriting. She pulled on Rita's arm a little before moving on. Rita came to herself with a jolt, and jumped out of her seat so quickly she tripped over her backpack. She didn't take the time to carefully extract herself, she just scooped up whatever was hanging off her and ran out of the bus. As soon as she saw what awaited her, she stopped dead.
All she could see was red roofs and blue sky. Hundreds of red roofs spread out before her, some grand domes, some homely and cracking. She could see where the street poked out, could see the crazy drivers and the mopeds, but only barely, and all was silent. A bird sang somewhere nearby, but even that was muted, as if the whole world had paused for one magical moment. Rita took a deep breath, and felt the sun shine on her cheeks. She felt warm, and when she closed her eyes for a moment, the golden sun beat against her eye lids, and she thought she was in heaven. She inhaled again, and smelled pasta and pizza, dust and history, setting her imagination free. She was too happy to smile. She was too happy to laugh. All she could do was stand, feeling as if she'd never been alive before, while tears poured down her cheeks. She felt homesick for this place without leaving. How could she leave?
confabulated by Bard at 11:34 PM
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