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Verona-Riva San Vitale, Italy/Switzerland, 3 October 1993

The memories in some of the small towns in Italy must simply scream in the ears of some people. Others hear a faint whisper. The sun is out today. It is a welcome change from being wet all of yesterday. The sun brings out shadows and lines that hide on other days. A wall records the passage of the sun through the day by the leaves of ivy casting shadows. If the wall bore permanent marks of these shadows, rainy days would be very interesting: to have no sun but still be able to see shadows.

Memory is like this sometimes. A wall at home that you have seen for years and years has a cycle. In the spring an old vine comes to life, flourishes in the summer, turns in the fall, and sleeps in the winter. You know the cycle, and in the winter you can see the shadows of the leaves among the dry vines. Memory is not simply a daydream or a though but a physical reaction as well. The feel of the patches of sunlight on your hand and the feel of the shadows of the leaves on your shoulder while leaning against the wall is a physical memory. The nerve endings have memory as well.