Sunlit Capital

For the first morning of a journey, the moment you step through the city gates. Morning light bounces off white cobblestones, fountain water mingles with distant market calls. Your map still has stiff folds and you haven't picked an inn — yet sitting on a plaza bench, watching pigeons peck at the stones, you feel no hurry at all. The oboe melody belongs to that morning: nothing has begun, and somehow that is enough.