Slater in the afternoon, when the sun is lower and branches and leaves fanned the light into narrow corridors, when the air pressure changes by a shade, the temperature or any other component in the atmosphere – when you are on a suitable section at such a moment is suddenly in front of you, the old street.

The ancient pavement shimmers as if the sun wanted to emphasize its contours, you can see the slight curvature of the path and the ditches on the left and right, and of course certain neurological circuits up there in the midbrain would like to present one of their handheld tricks again, they have that in their already done several times in the past: The distant noise of the main road disappears and takes the rest of the present with it. The field of vision narrows until there is only the pavement in front of you. The voices are back, soft, incomprehensible snippets of conversation and something that sounds like horse neighing. And then, thirty seconds later and fifty meters away, the trees are denser and the present returns. The light changes, the voices fade away, and the sand lies over the pavement. The Ausoniusweg looks like a normal forest path again. And not like a street that’s two thousand years old.

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