I arrived in Wrocław as the temperature dropped and the loveliest snow covered the city. Everything was as I hoped, laced in white, slow falling snow, lights in trees and streets and eyes.
We walked to Ostrów Tumski in bitter cold, crunching quickly though the snow, in order to keep warm. We were cold but we were cold together, the five of us, like a family. It was fun to share.
Mike made a snow-angel, Craig gave it the perfect little halo. It was surreal. We hurried home to warmth. We left the angel behind.

I crossed the Tevere at night, cold and dark, on a bridge steamy and noisy with traffic, vespas whizzing by on all sides, horns trumpeting. I looked left and saw the dome of Saint Peters pierce the dark sky. I looked right and saw lights climbing up the hill, leading my eyes away, away, away from the noise and buzzing and the anger. And when I looked back it made sense all of a sudden. And I was part of the traffic, walking along that bridge, flowing with the noise, buzzing with the vespas, a fluid organism. And when I looked left there was Saint Peters, just as it should be.

Oh how I’d love to see the future. I’d love to know my decisions were right. I’d love to move forward with confidence, smirk at those who call me crazy, laugh off pain that will seem so silly then.

I’ve heard about Route 1, on the coast between Los Angeles and San Francisco, and I’ve heard of the Gold Coast Highway in Australia. I have to add the road that passes between the two volcanoes on Hawai’i island. There are no lights, the way is lit by a bright bursting sky of stars, turning your head is like watching fireworks swirl around you, and the road turns, climbs, dips then banks, without interruption, for something like 50 kilometers. The last 10 are the most difficult, as the car rarely leaves second gear, and the foggy switchbacks can make you nervous.
At the top, arriving in pitch black except for the stars, I could make out peaks through either frozen lakes or sheets of cloud.
And then I looked up, and was charmed.