The waft of cinnamon from my kitchen often transports me back to Prague on a fall day. 

Within my memories of those mornings, as I stepped out to explore the city, I would tilt my head up – eyes closed – and breath in an enticing whiff of warm spices. It would often prompt a willful surrender to a game of hide-and-seek with this temptress.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell tower clangs and reverberates, announcing its presence and the rolling time. The screeching brake of a tram grows louder as it draws near. And then, as fast as it had come, it recedes, along with the clomp of booted feet eager to reach their destinations. They let me be in my reverie, and I choose to walk the winding streets, allured by the aroma of cinnamon, pumpkin, and nutmeg carried by the autumn breeze. 

In the quest to find the source of my temptation, the endless chase through cobblestones would often end up hurting my unaccustomed feet. Defeated, I would walk back to my apartment each evening, crossing over from Stare Mesto to Mala Strana, as she swirled and danced around me in one last-ditch effort of enticement.

“You cannot escape me,” she teases.

Before long, she makes me aware of her omnipresence, akin to the gusty wind that rises from the Vltava and blows through all of Prague.  

My experience with Prague on a fall day makes me wonder whether some cities – if not all – live and breathe like us human beings. 

Draped in a golden shawl with imprints of fall foliage, Prague could have been a beautiful woman if only she were human. Her cozy hue was reminiscent of the warmth emanating from a feminine soul. Painted with yellow, orange, and red leaves like the streaks of a fiery-haired maiden and the backdrop of deep blue sky for her eyes, she had grown earthy and gorgeous, transitioned from the summery vibes of adolescence.