Click clack, click clack.
Remember to feel -- the cool metal of the rails as you cross over bridge after bridge, the soft crumble of the walls as you meander the ancient maze, the warm wet air seeping into your pours.
Click clack.
Remember to listen -- to your heels echo over cobblestone, to the deep laughter of humanity from all corners of the globe pouring out of tiny ristorantes into sidewalk tables as it lands gently upon the lapping waters of the canals.
Click clack.
Remember to breath deeply -- inhale the minerals, lingering espresso, rich history and the luscious soul of the place.
Click clack.
Remember to get lost -- take the wrong waterbus and let the Italian sun kiss your lips and the spray sprinkle your face.
Click clack, click clack.
Remember to look up -- at the rainbow of laundry, clothesline after clothesline spanning narrow calles from tiny shuttered window to tiny shuttered window; at the fantastically warm Venetian smiles, ready to help in as much English as they can muster; at the flowers, the tiles, the bricks, the stone, the ivy, the architecture, the style, the sky.
Remember to be.