One of the procession leaders rests for a moment

 The tiny streets of Cagli are lined with elaborate flower designs. Petals of all sizes, shapes and colors form religious pictures like crosses and chalises. Crimson and gold banners hang from window sills and flop lazily in the early afternoon heat. The town's band hastily assembles outside the church entrance, while men and boys dressed in brown and blue robes prepare for something. But what? Today is the feast day of Corpus Cristi, and while the intricant clanging of the church bells signaled the start of the procession to everyone else, I was quite unclear about what was going on. And believe it or not I've grown accustomed to that feeling here in Cagli.

The attendants of the special mass begin to filter out, flickers of anticipation are seen on the young children's faces, even though they probably have a better idea about what is about to happen than I do. Slowly the people begin to file into an order. Two lines, one on each side of the street. The blue robed men carrying lit lanterns and a large cross head the solemn march through the streets of Cagli. As I run around like a giddy child with a camera, I am quickly joined by other camera toting Americans, scrambling to get the perfect shots.

As I snap away, I begin to receive some side stares and glances from members of the precession and those watching it. I attempt to blend in, not call any attention to myself. Once again I fail miserably at the 'I am an inconspicuious observer' game and continue taking pictures. I study the faces of the people passing by, pensive and reflective, while I'm running around the streets of Cagli trying to capture everything while trying to incorporate the Rule of Thirds.
     
         
One of the priests begins to recite what I could only assume was a prayer, and all of the Cagliese reply together in Italian. I feel a bit awkward as a large group of priests spots me with camera in hand as they pass. My brain argues with itself, 'Take the picture." "No, don't take the picture."

Finally I decide and snap my last photo quickly. I silently apologize, to the priests, the people of Cagli, and God, for being one of the gawking Americans. Slowly I make my way home, the bells clanging, clanging.

One of the many detailed flower creations
lining Cagli's streets

         
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