contented sigh

Everything smells of springtime - of warmth and hot concrete and a little tar, and blossom and just-lit cigarettes and a fusion of food smells as the restaurants open their doors and windows and move seating back outside, and everone is smiling and it's lighter later and the blossom in the friscalating dusk light [ha ha] on St Marks looks so magically beautiful, and the evenings are warm and made for sitting outside sharing drinks with friends or walking around the city and feeling every little detail is bleeding into you and being etched on your heart so it doesn't matter that in five weeks you have to leave it all behind because you know it's never goodbye, it's only see you soon...