The vast percentage of any mushroom, it turns out, lives underground, in a network of extremely fine fibers, or hyphae, that prowl the soil gathering nutrients. A single cubic centimeter of dirt might contain as much as two thousand meters of hyphae.
Rome is like that, I think. The bulk of it lies underground, its history ramified so densely under there, ten centuries in every thimbleful, that no one will ever unravel it all.
Since returning from Rome I’ve been reading more of its history and more about the art I saw. I’m overwhelmed by how much there is to learn about it all. I’ve fallen in love and I can’t get enough of my beloved’s story but I’m beginning to realize that I couldn’t learn it all if I dedicated the rest of my life to it.