As I sit in the center of the orange grove leaning against a tree’s trunk, it is difficult to find an adjective to describe this moment other than “perfect.” I am sitting on some gravel in partial shade. The stones beneath me feel neither hot nor cold and although they are slightly digging into my skin, sitting anywhere is a welcome rest from standing and walking so I don’t mind. The air around feels about 70 degrees; the light breeze makes this temperate afternoon even more ideal. Because Guerry and I found and shared a low-hanging orange, traces of its taste, smell, and feel are still lingering. I’m surrounded by the citric aroma, and my pencil feels somewhat sticky from my fingers. Lastly, I can hear the beautiful sound of almost total silence, save for the birds chirping and a nearby fountain bubbling. For a public space with dozens of people milling about, I can hardly make out any human voices. As a whole, this spot is as peaceful as any outdoor space I’ve encountered in Rome, second only to the Protestant Cemetery.
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