Vienna Prose piece- Copyright Robert Fullarton 2014

Vienna Memories

Mist is gathering in the center of Vienna.
There are lights beaming out from the Kafe haus Savoy
like a golden door fashioned by the ancient hand of a long dead goldsmith. The men and women are gathering in the marketplace hand in hand, measure for measure made to match.
These buildings made of marble, these palaces and fancy streets of the baroque are memorials to an empire dead and buried. The horse and cart, the man fettered to history in his old Regal costume holding the harness to the pale white horse, riding mile for mile searching for customers among the watchful bystanders that look and listen as the hoofs  fall upon the cobbled paths making tracks in thought and comfort through the plains of my moving heart.

Vienna in part reminds me of the labyrinth of the Minotaur, the cream white columned structures that spread out from the arteries of the city to the back streets....reminiscent of Prague's wonderful old town.
I think of Stefan Sweig, Rilke, Klimt and the dreams of Franz Kafka are alive and well while the mist
surrounds me as I approach the Stephansdome to sit upon a vacant chair, to stare and dwell upon a life revisited in the city of Vienna.