Momentary Blindness: Aventine Hill

            The scent of orange trees reaches me on the slight wind and intermingles with jasmine and clover.  The drip of rainwater onto gravel paths collects with the blossoms and washes away the gas and cigarette clouds commonly found on Roman streets. The screech of young children, along with the linguistically confused rants of a man on the corner wall, combine to form a sense of chaos among the orchard, the pesky sounds of human existence among tranquil nature.  The click of the camera shutters and the occasional blare of car horns from the nearby street only reinforces the immense presence of human life on the hill.  My back stiffens as I hear the crunching of footsteps coming towards my solitary perch but quickly pass by for a view of the city.  Even amongst the noise, I can still hear the muted gasps of those admiring the skyline and the wincing of elbows being thrown for the perfect Instagram shot.  The calls about children and parents warning their kids about the dangers of walking on the street slowly dissipate, replaced by the piercing sound of seagulls and the whisper of tree fronds.  Even the preacher has gone, left to go find another unassuming crowd.  Only the cleaning man is left, the rustle of his broom swishing across gravel paths and a whistle on his lips.  Here on the Aventine Hill, I have found peace among the orange trees, content to listen to the birds and wind.  Here is where I finally find a place of rest and thoughtful reflection among one of the busiest cities in the world.