The first time I saw Venice, I realized that it is a secret to be revealed wrapped in the mist.
A city on water, made of water: the rain, the lagoon, the fog, the mist.
One evening I was walking among the streets. The sun was going down and a wet rain was blowing. In the dark I heard a voice. "Water is just the treasure chest," he told me.
I turned around abruptly. "Who are you? What do you mean? "I asked him. No answer, just a chuckle, somewhere in the shadows. Then a light touch on my shoulder. I turned again: an open door invited me to enter.
The warmth enveloped me like a hug. I threw the wet coat somewhere, and I advanced into the long corridor. I felt the soft carpets under my feet, caressed the smooth walls of shining stucco, the inlays of precious stones, I touched the large brocade sofa with a finger.
That night I dreamed of Grey Velvet. An amber opening, warm like the feeling of leaving the cold behind and being welcomed in one of these homes. A round gourmand heart of plum and fig, soft coconut, sensual like satin, velvets, brocades that embellish the rooms. A background of moss and sandalwood, attracts you from the inside to the warmest and most fragrant rooms, sumptuous like a large room heated by a fireplace, all cushions, velvets and golds, a warm embrace to let yourself go, drunk with beauty.