The city was cloaked in silence. As we glided down the Grand Canal, I looked up at the darkened palaces.
The ancient facades glowed in the moonlight. Once in a great while, a piano nobile would show signs of life, glowing like a beacon in a sleeping city.
Windows thrown open to take in the late summer air allowed muffled conversation or music to waft over the water.
These lit rooms granted us a glimpse of ceilings that groaned under the weight of sculpted plaster figures supporting vast, celestial paintings.
I looked up at these rooms illuminated by enormous chandeliers made centuries earlier in this very city.
They didn’t sparkle like the crystal chandeliers of Paris—the Venetian chandeliers glimmered.
They glimmered with a dim luster like the inky water that held us aloft as we floated into the heart of my dream city.
from the book DREAM OF VENICE
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