it's hot... fa caldo

Old folks sit on the stone steps, catching any tiny breeze that might stir.

They don't talk, except to sigh "fa caldo" as I pass.

The village is still, sleeping.

My jandals flip flop on the cobblestones. It sounds wrong. I would love to go barefoot, but one doesn't. At least not in public. And certainly not on hot cobblestones.

Today I am grateful for beautiful old cobblestone streets where every stone has a story to tell.