Day 42: Bassano del Grappa

The mightiest month requires sharp eyes. To notice the normal, but not the similar. You never know when something can change. When you know you're not alone. There's a frame you're stepping into, perfected in advance. You don't have to rush it.

It's the way fallen acorns crunch under a swirl of your foot. How the happiest hour is spent wandering streets with shut up storefronts, everyone else back home for lunch. Leaves, perfectly dead and dried, provide a runway for what's come alive.