As I sit in the sun on a surprisingly cold stone bench I can hear the crunch of stones beneath feet and the loud shouts of children passing me, but mixed with those sounds are the soft tweets of many birds. The loud sounds fade, to be replaced with a bell tolling in the distance, but still the birds remain. Their sounds come from all directions above me. I think I can smell a hint of orange in the air, but that might be my mind playing tricks on me. I can feel a nice cool breeze as well as the paper upon which I am writing gently tapping on my knuckles. I am now noticing a dull whirring coming from the city behind me; I think it might be sirens, but I'm not sure. It is soon drowned out by the sounds of Italian being spoken as a group walks by me. For just a moment after they pass there is silence, except for the birds. It's very nice. The bench is still cold as I extend a leg over a fresh section of it. The wind has picked up and now keeps blowing my hair into my eyes and slightly into my mouth, but it soon quiets down again. The birds continue their song. I can now hear the sound of running water coming from a fountain in front of me, something I hadn't noticed before. In the distance, a loud laugh rings out along with another group of people. This time English is mixed in with the Italian. The sun is starting to get hot and it's beginning to bother me. I strain my ears to hear the birds once more before getting up, but they seem to have gone.
(Orange Garden on Aventine Hill, 5/28, 3:55 - 4:11)
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