Christian takes me to a Spoleto party. Cavernous ceiling, the walls painted charcoal black and these magnificent columnar lights stretching floor to ceiling in the darkness.
And these huge, spotlit wooden swings.
The swings were wonderful. It had been forever since we'd caught up, and sitting there talking felt as if we were enclosed within our own space of light, a tiny room of conversation off to the side. But in reality, we realized later, anyone on the swings looked as though they were acting in a scene from a play, and you couldn’t resist watching them.
A silver-haired gentleman in burgundy velvet jacket, his head thrown back laughing as he and a lady swirled around, waltzing in and out of the spotlight. I couldn't stop watching them. They knew, they loved it, they laughed harder.
“I can’t stop watching!” I said, covering my eyes. “I’m staring, this is what sunglasses are for.”
“But it’s all so beautiful,” he said.
“I love it so much.”
This is a wild soul-book