Catania, Sicily

From the terrace of the Diocesan Museum,
I set my tripod against the railing and looked out over the city: domes, balconies, flags moving in the wind.

The sun was low.
The light warmed the stone and turned it the color of honey.
Far away, Etna rose white against the sky, its snow bright enough to hurt the eyes.

It was March and the volcano was quiet.