Like prophets who come foretelling the doom of Sodom, and whose words fall on to the deaf ears of carousing mobs, these ferries, painted the color of sunsets, cross and recross the foam flecked bay in the rain - a warning appropriate to our brief time on earth that sunlight like grace is limited, and that paradise, like the ripe mouth of a woman when loved, passes much too quickly, leaving us with few poetic images (as if to increase our torments): green Ulyssean isles in spring air, the scent of heavy lemons, lovers crossing a palazzo sharing a gelato.

This nice article on Bach's farewell to eternity "The Art of Fuge" made me revisit Gould's recording of it:

Here Gould essays Contrapunctus 14 - the last (& incomplete) fugue

after a 9 hour flight from Rome, after being away for about 3 weeks, with Dante smoothing my way through the dreaded gates of INS at the airport. While I will miss (and recall) the Mediterranean azures (apart from days in Rome and Florence, the communion with the sea was continuous), it feels good to be back to a cloudy Jersey spring day.

And before I forget, my favorite art moment from this Italian sojourn (remembering Italy bleeds art): the discovery and the conquest of breathing by Caravaggio's "The Calling of Saint Matthew"¹ - this, after randomly walking into a church in Rome to rest tired feet for a bit before continuing on to the Pantheon, and discovering this painting (along with two other masterpieces) hanging in an innocuous alcove! I have, since then, been haunted by that extended hand of Signor Jesu.

[1] For more detailed description of the painting look here