"Memory," he whispered to the tall cypress trees, "is a fickle sculptor."
As the stars began to pierce the velvet sky over Tivoli, Hadrian felt a strange peace. He had spent his reign trying to hold back the tide of time, to stabilize a world always in flux. But as the shadows lengthened, he saw the beauty in the transience. The wall he built would fall; the temples would become ruins; the poems would be forgotten and then rediscovered. 125737
He sat by a reflecting pool, the water as still as a held breath. He thought of the miles he had marched—from the misty, rain-soaked edges of Britain to the golden heat of Palmyra. He had spent his life trying to define the world with stone and law, building a wall to keep the "barbarians" out, only to realize that the truest borders were the ones within his own heart. "Memory," he whispered to the tall cypress trees,