The Celt and his mama have gone to church, I remain in the breakfast room listening to the waiters, watching the boats pass by the windows, listening again to "Oh Holy Night" much as we did yesterday outside the church of San Vitale, and marvelling how even in the morning gloom the colors of Venice glow. And they do, especially on the walls surrounding me.
Yesterday afternoon, looking at the subtle warmth of the pinks and corals of La Fenice, how balanced they were with clear pale greens, natural whites, faux marbre, scagliola, acres of rococo gilding and shaded lamps, I wondered at how, at home, color speaks in gruff, hoarse tones from which accent and nuance are gone.
Perhaps too serious a subject for today which is, after all, the celebration of a Promise glowing in the gloom two thousand years long.
The photograph of Santa Maria Della Salute taken last night, Christmas Eve, just before we went to bed.