My moment of doubt on the cliffs of Capri
From the center of the village Capri, which was the Piazzetta, a walking path led east. The cobbled path sloped gently and in other places not so gently so an older woman might take her time, and those with heels might not challenge it. Stone villas shouldered the path, shaded by Roman trees, but except for a cat, few walked here at the dinner hour. In some places the ascent broke into a series of carved steps, as if the path could barely restrain itself, anticipating what lay ahead. I would have skipped too if my head were not so full. The space begin to grow lighter about me. Then I came to a high flat space, open to the world.
From this high point you could watch the sea, turquoise to gray blue to white haze fading into the horizon. Boats looked miniature, identified only by their wake far below. The Arco Naturale raised its limestone crown a hundred meters high from its green perch. Up and to the left, the ruins of Monte Tiberio silhouetted the northern sky. For a moment I wished that I could cast my heavy burdens off the cliff as cruel emperor Tiberious had. How motivated was he by self-pity? How did he suffer his judgmental ways? I closed my eyes to the wisps of high egotism, as undefined and useless as the clouds, and attempted to meditate. Even as the wind brushed little ferns against my feet, and the polished glint of their stems reflected impossible beauty.