Dainty snowflakes dusted my shoulders as I darted across the open courtyard. Yawning from a hard day’s work, I quietly knocked on the studio door. It was difficult to maintain a sense of urgency as the warmth radiating from the windows promised me rest. It reminded me of the day I had met him.
The sun had been hot on my back and I had welcomed the needed warmth as I walked the streets of Venice. I sighed as I carried my nearly empty basket through the wealthy part of the city. The homes were grand and smoke poured from their distant but inviting hearths. My frozen fingers let the handle slip, and the whole basket dropped onto the dirty street. Dazed, I did not notice my mistake until I had already stepped on the freshly-pressed shawls. Just as I bent to pick them up, an arm appeared and offered the muddy garments to me.
“I believe these belong to you,” a deep voice chuckled. “Though you may not want them anymore.”
I frowned at the borrowed garments …show more content…
I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill in this weather.”
I had seen him a few more times since that fateful day. After passing him twice in my father’s market, he invited me to a play. There were four instances following that. This was, however, to be my first visit to his studio, as well as our first encounter after dark.
The solid oak door swung slowly on its hinges as though it too knew the necessity of silence. Pietro embraced me and quickly shut the door to prevent precious heat from escaping the room. His workshop was a cluttered space. Tubes of paint covered the face of the table, and the benches were buried under stacks of half-finished canvases. Dirty paintbrushes and old rags were littered about the room. A musty smell surrounded these items but appeared to leave Pietro alone. His familiar earthy scent enveloped me as I clutched him, and I felt myself drift even further closer towards comfortable
The sun had been hot on my back and I had welcomed the needed warmth as I walked the streets of Venice. I sighed as I carried my nearly empty basket through the wealthy part of the city. The homes were grand and smoke poured from their distant but inviting hearths. My frozen fingers let the handle slip, and the whole basket dropped onto the dirty street. Dazed, I did not notice my mistake until I had already stepped on the freshly-pressed shawls. Just as I bent to pick them up, an arm appeared and offered the muddy garments to me.
“I believe these belong to you,” a deep voice chuckled. “Though you may not want them anymore.”
I frowned at the borrowed garments …show more content…
I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill in this weather.”
I had seen him a few more times since that fateful day. After passing him twice in my father’s market, he invited me to a play. There were four instances following that. This was, however, to be my first visit to his studio, as well as our first encounter after dark.
The solid oak door swung slowly on its hinges as though it too knew the necessity of silence. Pietro embraced me and quickly shut the door to prevent precious heat from escaping the room. His workshop was a cluttered space. Tubes of paint covered the face of the table, and the benches were buried under stacks of half-finished canvases. Dirty paintbrushes and old rags were littered about the room. A musty smell surrounded these items but appeared to leave Pietro alone. His familiar earthy scent enveloped me as I clutched him, and I felt myself drift even further closer towards comfortable