Piranesi de nos jours (Hova etiam)...

Once, many years ago, I lived in a village by a wadi, beneath a rounded hill. Sometimes, not very often, I climbed that hill, and looked down on the tiny houses and orchards, and the vast landscape. Decades later, thousands of miles away, I climbed another rounded hill, and looked down on the tiny farms and villages, and danced.  Such recollections are laid across my mind like those hills: the structure of my memories.