Un'aria Semplice

Vesuvius sits idly across the bay, yet volcanic sunlight envelopes it. Down below, waves crash against heavy rocks, but high above on this mountain ridge, I can barely distinguish them from the sounds of the birds. When you’re sat in the clouds, you must be careful where you step.

I examine the letter again, a job invitation. The 5 o’clock ferry will be delayed in the morning, so there’s no need to rush down now. For the final time I’ll make the descent down hundreds of stairs to the harbor, this time with the weight of my possessions, and my future, strapped to my back.

From up here, I can watch the island breathe in its typical slow rhythm. Tourist buses snake down the S-bends as the restaurants in town flip on their lights. In an hour or so, the square will fill with smells of warm bread and the sound of warm voices. Faces with wrinkles, dimples, and scars will laugh and smile amongst one another, grateful for another day of life.

The thought of it ensnares me. To leave a place is one thing, to leave Capri is to leave life itself. Perched now on the precipice of a rock, amongst the clouds, I’ve become the god of my home and my destiny. The letter sits heavy in my lap.

In defiance, I fold one corner of it, then the other. Then fold, bend, bend. An airplane. I stand and breathe in the imaginary smell of bread and love. With the help of the wind, I let my letter go, and watch as it crashes into the heavy rocks and surf below, drowning the thought of leaving my Capri.