In an instant windows will open, mothers will bellow for their children for breakfast, cats will get kicked aside accidentally, and the aroma of espresso will travel waft (specifically like smell travels) across the Grand Canal.
It is a hot summer day and the sun already reflects its beams on the water, disrupting the oarsmen on their gondolas. Like an incessant melody, agitated voices dance in the air, mingling with the staccato twitter of morning birds. Italian salutations and market stall calls bounce off one another, creating infinite charms to the Latin landscape.
Children study at school, parents work at the office, grandparents prepare tonight’s meal, secretly crafting delicious cannolis for their grandchildren. And once again, the streets are embalm with the fruity tomato taste browning in olive oil while the clams bob in between hot bubbles of water.
The walls of the city incessantly diffuse history. Venetians walk the paved streets with pride, aware of the magnificence of their culture, the carnival, the music, the monuments and the canal.