Positano

Positano. A town where the cliffs tumble into the sea, where the air is thick with the scent of lemon groves and salt, where time slows just enough for you to notice the details. It was there, in the dusky glow of an after-hours stroll, that I first saw it—the lemon topiary. Perched in a tiny shop window, bathed in the golden light of an old-world lantern, it called to me.

Naturally, I couldn’t go home without it, so at first light, Bill and I wound our way back through the cobbled streets, retracing our steps to claim it. At the time, it felt indulgent, extravagant even. But looking at it now—years later, still as vibrant, still as charming—I know better. Some things don’t just hold memories; they become them.

And now, as it sits here at the center of my table, its sun-kissed lemons perfectly paired with my newly acquired, hand-painted Italian pasta bowls from @vivo.veronika, the story continues. A table set not just for dining, but for reminiscing. For celebrating. For savoring the beauty of things that stand the test of time. - SuzanneZinggStyle