Ponza, Latium — August 7, 2024

August seventh, Ponza. I follow a hand-painted sign down a sun-bleached wall past a red gate and an orange building with its shutters pulled against the heat. By midmorning I'm on the water. The island shows me its other face: pale limestone cliffs streaked with rust-colored lichen, a narrow channel between two headlands, a small white chapel perched at the far tip of a promontory. From the bow I watch turquoise deepen into navy where the rock drops away. One thing I keep noticing — those orange streaks on the stone aren't paint or stain. They're lichen, a slow partnership between a fungus and an algae, living where almost nothing else can. The fungus is the house; the algae is the cook. Together they color the cliffs of Ponza. Next time you pass a sea cliff, look for the rust — that's life, holding on.