Thanks to dear Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and to Roger Bultot for the photo.
My ‘Lento’ tour promised a handful of churches, a motley market, stalls with tiny bottles of rose petal oil, followed by a quiet glass of Prosecco in the market square. I take a second sip and the pavement beneath my feet slowly tilts, the cream and orange buildings topple over like monumental slices of gingerbread.
Do I alone notice that the world is turning. a portal just for me ? A new perspective on my unexciting life, a message maybe ? I’ll ask the man at the next table, does he feel topsy turvey too, see a cosmic truth in the tilting gingerbread ?