Prague does not let go, of you or of me. This little mother has claws. There is nothing for it but to give in.
- Franz Kafka
It's been a week of lasts...
pastries on the curb,
tram rides,
evening walks,
dinners at Clear Head Vegetarianska Restaurant,
lollipops from Martin (although he gave us a whole sack for the road,)
big hoorahs in the old town flat.In the final hours, everything has started to magnify itself, to push itself forward onto us. The patronly spires are more pronounced above the swells of mint patinaed domes. Flags of red white and blue gleam against the dynamic grays of dusk.
Even the weather pulsates with all of Prague's personalities. We walk in cold raindrops, then are warmed by a heavy sun. It spills like liquid gold from the Charles Bridge, into every crevice of the city, leaving no shadows. Then it recedes again. Cold currents slide through the summery air, swirling around us, awakening, enlivening.
Even the weather pulsates with all of Prague's personalities. We walk in cold raindrops, then are warmed by a heavy sun. It spills like liquid gold from the Charles Bridge, into every crevice of the city, leaving no shadows. Then it recedes again. Cold currents slide through the summery air, swirling around us, awakening, enlivening.
Tomorrow the plane pulls us out of here. What a gift this has been!
What we can see will last only a short time. What we can not see will last forever.
2 Corinthians 4:18
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