My Venice is the Venice of winter, the Venice of Cannaregio, the Venice of fog. Walking down the Fte Nove in la nebbia, wearing rubber boots against the high water, it is hard to tell where terra firma leaves off and sky and water begin. The city seems to hang in the air like a mirage. Sounds bounce off the waters and deceive you with their closeness or farness. Figures appear and disappear around corners. The past beckons. It is quite possible to believe that it can take you and never give you back.
- The peaceful pleasures of Venice in winter (seattletimes.nwsource.com)