Sun shines blinding on steeples and museum tops and niche department stores. I seriously consider switching to photosynthesis. Bells, bells, bells, and silent churches. Silent museums. Silent courtyards.
We wander through crowded streets and empty rooms; we lie on our backs in a time capsule and dream about ballgowns.
Jack Frost came in the night and blew softly on every black bough, dusting the rooftops and steeples with magic. The only ones out are catholics and tourists.
I amble alone and look for Narnia.
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