I started the day with a long walk over the generously dew-sprayed grass in the woods. It was an exhilarating morning which, in more than one way, served as a reminder of how my sojourn was coming to an end and how envious I was of myself, of this pocket of time, of how a version of me will remain here forever, while I will live my regular days once again. With every step, I reminded myself not to get used to these days, but I flirted with the idea of spending my days reading, walking, eating, living, and then, if I found the time, the inspiration or the beverage for it, sitting down to write a few words. Perhaps that might be where I end up regardless, or maybe this is the last time I can live like this—no way to verify but to live. The dust has to settle somewhere. The trick is to accept and be happy with wherever it settles in the end, and if being happy is too big an ask, then tolerate it.
Over these days, I have felt a certain forgotten restfulness return to me, having found moments of immense excitement, of quiet comfort, of endless conversation, of never-ending silence, of long walks through forests and piazzas alike, of hours spent in bed since nothing called on me. In all, while there are some things left to see, they will be the dessert after all the meal courses. I believe I am fully satiated with the change in my days and surroundings, and now, I feel in my heart the familiar craving, the urge to go back to my days once again. Maybe it is a flaw, but there is little life can do to rend my days and their aftertaste off me permanently. Sure, there is a feeling of unease that creeps up sometimes, but before long, I find myself tracing my footsteps back home, back to what I know about who I am and what I do. But we must go far away to find our way back. It is easiest to lose track of where you are when you do not move at all.
Towards the end of my long walk through the woods, I thought I had found a new path, but when I hopped towards it, I could see the steps back to the villa. I had walked through and around the whole thing. But before this realisation, I was convinced there was something new there.
Perhaps there was; perhaps that is the point.