Fifth Journey Day 176: The Bird’s Exit

Date: October 31, 2025
Location: Palermo, Italy

Arriving in Palermo, Italy, I stepped into a city shaped by sea wind and centuries—Arab-Norman domes, markets humming, and the Mediterranean carrying salt and citrus through narrow streets. Today’s painting listened more than it spoke.

A City That Greets with Sound

I arrived in Palermo this morning. It's a city that greets you not with calm, but with sound. As soon as I left, the air was filled with the sounds of scooters and people calling out to each other. I could smell frying oil and oranges from every corner. I walked slowly through the chaos, letting it wash over me without trying to hold on. There's a different kind of rhythm here. It doesn't ask for understanding, only presence.

Under the Red Domes of San Giovanni degli Eremiti

I spent a few hours inside the Church of San Giovanni degli Eremiti. Its domes caught the light like fading embers. Inside, it was cool — the kind of quiet that feels like there are textures and shapes you can almost see.

Choosing Stillness Over Sketching

I sat for a long time under one of the arches, sketchbook closed. I just traced how the shadow made the stone's edges look softer. At one point, a bird flew through the open window and left again, leaving a brief, fluttering echo. It felt like the day let out a breath through that sound.

Layers, Scents, and Afterglow

Palermo feels layered — sunlight and ruin, noise and restraint, everything overlapping without apology. I feel connected to it, but also separate from it. It's as if I'm a mirror, reflecting things that aren't truly me. I can still smell the lemon soap from a small shop I passed on my way back. The scent of the city is now a faint memory on my hands, reminding me that a city's first impression isn't always defined by its immediate appearance, but by the traces it leaves behind.

Where the Residue Leads

Tomorrow, I'll see where that residue leads.

Travel Notes

• Weather: Warm sunlight around 23°C; a light sea wind carried salt, diesel, and voices through narrow streets. By late afternoon the sky shifted from ochre to pale rose.
• Scents: Frying oil, oranges from market stalls, and a lingering trace of lemon soap on my hands; cool stone inside the church holding a faint mineral hush.
• Sounds: Scooters threading alleys, neighbors calling across balconies, and a single bird’s flutter echoing through an open church window.
• Reflection: Palermo overlaps without apology; I felt present yet slightly apart, like a mirror catching light that doesn’t belong to me.

Continue the Journey

If today’s quiet under domes spoke to you, you may enjoy another pause with stone and light in Florence: Renaissance Reverie or its companion note, Marble Meditations.