Momentary Blindness on the Aventine Hill

In the park on top of the Aventine Hill the wind is blowing fervently.  I can hear it rustling the leaves in the trees, and it whips my hair around my face.  The marble bench I sit on is cold, having been sitting in the shade, and the wind makes me shiver.  I can hear the sound of gravel beneath feet as people slowly walk by.  There are muffled voices in conversation, small quips of laughter and sounds of running.  The birds call to each other loudly, usually a small chirp, but occasionally a large squawk.  In a rare moment of silence, I can hear running water from a small drinking fountain near by.  It is quickly hidden again by the sound of a helicopter whirring up above.  The wind picks up again and I move into the sun.  The heat is automatic, the new bench warm.  The air smells fresh, a little like soil.  After a day of walking, I take a moment to relax.