In my dreams I return. To the coffee shop in Sienna Italy just off the Piazzo del Campo with the Blue Mountain Jamaican coffee and the amazing cherry strudel puff pastry filled with ricotta. To the backarei down the street from my house in Goettingen, or to the Apthotheke that sold the chewy, beeswax gummi bears. I wander cobblestone streets on my way to places I haunted long ago. In my dreams I get lost and waylaid–never quite make it to my destination. The dream moves on, my goal forgotten.

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The dreams are real–a reflection of the fact that all these places are memories now.  Even prowling through google street view, or returning for a visit doesn’t capture the moment as time has moved on. Places have closed, things and people have changed.  But sometimes, I remember those moments of time when I lived in those transitory places, and I am back in my window looking out over the Basilica, even if only in my mind.