Sweet Lemons

We had left behind Paestum, our cheeks kissed and well wishes trailing in our wake. Our car pointed optimistically northbound as we hugged the beautiful coast outside of Salerno. A bright morning sun lit the endless blue sky until the point at which sky and sea became one. Our hearts, though sad from our early morning goodbyes, were lifted with the sails of the colorful little boats dotting the horizon. 

As the sharp curves of our road became more erratic, we looked ahead with childlike glee, knowing that awaiting us around each bend was a new stunning panorama of cliffs towering over sea. It was with such enthusiasm that we reached Amalfi, my neck sore from straining to see everything at once. We left the car with an expensive sea front view, and with our cameras in hand, we explored the lovely corners of Amalfi. We visited the Cattedrale di Sant'Andrea and eyed the remains of Saint Andrew suspiciously, waiting for manna to appear. We sampled sweet local lemon flavored pastries, we wandered quiet walkways and followed staircases to their end. I made the purchases of a shameless tourist, flavored salts and soaps, beautiful scarves of pastel cotton, tiny jars of preserves. We sniffed truffles, made wishes in tiny fountains, weighed giant lemons with our hands, took hundreds of photos. We played, and after a few hours, we climbed back into our little car and headed to the slightly quieter, less tourist infested nearby town of Minori.

As the day's shadows lengthened we walked unhurried, pushing aside thoughts of limited time, instead embracing an aimless afternoon next to the sea. Before accepting the inevitability of the day's end, we sat at a tiny seasonal pop up cafe, overlooking children playing loudly in the water's edge. I picked up the dainty spoon in front of me, dipping into the bowl of smooth lemon ice. I held the spoon languidly in my mouth as sweet warred with the intense sour of the lemon. My lips pursed as my taste buds sang, my tongue cold as my skin was warmed by the summer sun, and my heart took a photo. Moments later, I furtively glanced about  through lowered lashes, and seeing no one looking my way, I quickly slipped the small spoon into my purse.  

Today, I am on the other side of the world. Today, my thoughts may be full of students, Handel, Fauré and a head cold, today Chicago may be frigid enough to freeze damp hair and explode water bottles left in the car, today may be happening too quickly, smacking me already into tomorrow. But today, as I stir my tea, I do not forget. Today, I am holding Amalfi as a tiny spoon in my hand and for this moment, the lemons are so sweet.