There are millions of rooms in this world. Some are wide with high windows looking out onto citrus groves, and these ones have walls covered with hundreds of turquoise hand-painted tiles. Some are small and dark, and there's a server who comes with a mug of cold beer while outside there is the sound of nice shoes moving quickly across stone. Some rooms feel oddly familiar, though you're sure you've never been there before. You've been there in a dream, maybe. Others are so foreign you're shocked into the slightness of yourself -- how much there is in this room, and in a thousand more, that you don't know, and won't ever know, the faintest thing about.
Winter is giving way to a surge of wanderlust. That, at least, is something I am growing more familiar with. It moves in like a storm front in February, heavy as a quilt and dragging. I Google places like Palermo, Italy or the Isle of Skye in Scotland, and the images make my imagination gallop.
Imagine the shapes of gargantuan rocks, sheets of shining water, stands of shimmering trees. And the way an old city can swallow you and keep you in any of its many strange and wonderful rooms.