frida
Anything Goes: Angst
I’ve left Italy but Italy has not left me. It lingers on behind my eyelids and in crevices of memory. T’ai Chi meditation walk every morning on a lawn fragrant with wild oregano. A full moon in Strove near Montereggione, hanging in the night sky like a celestial apricot. The church in San Gimignano where I lit a candle for the dead.
This little piece of art by Katia Bassi is gold leaf and dark green cypress. Simple but sumptuous like all of Tuscany. For two nights we stayed in a little stone house, renovated and restored, on the grounds of Castel Bigozzi. Gilded by a gold moon, set in an olive orchard.
Writing for a week at Villa Spannochia was like a dream come true that you didn’t realize you had been dreaming til you arrived there.
A Room with a View to be rented and Italy remembered. I’m so afraid I’ll forget the church bells, the sound of Vespas, the smell of old stones and sun baked dust, quilted hills, a hail storm on a sunny day in Siena.
