Respira: A Small Light

A card from Respira, Breathe Italy Home.

Florence has turned the color of warm bread, and the roofs run down toward the river in soft terracotta rows.

On the stone windowsill, a single candle waits, its wick pale and untouched—a match scrapes, small and dry. Then a flame kindles, low and gold, and the window glass holds a second one just behind it, trembling.

Below in the lane a shutter closes. A bicycle bell rings twice and fades. The scent of beeswax rises, faint and honeyed, and the air seems to whisper respira.

You are a girl again at the weathered kitchen table, radio murmuring in the next room and someone humming over the stove.

Ogni sera merita una piccola luce.

Tonight, somewhere in your home, there may be a candle set aside for nothing in particular.

Light it at dusk and let the evening arrive around it.

Respira.