ITALY in SEPTEMBER
A velvet green canopy over a collar of basalt rock
protects the dry crisp plain beneath
nibbled by the ink blue Mediterranean Sea.
Italy in September relaxes after the annual summer assault of heat, of visitors and of cars.
Deep in the countryside, where silence glimpses the afterlife,the stain of voices emerge greeting,
shuffling on sun baked grit.
The day is announced. The dancing horizon is penetrated by hydro pylons bringing energy to fuel the day in the kitchen and homes
of a people known only by their smiles. Descendants of Greek invaders or Roman Legionnaires, they roam no more, content in sharing their harmony with nature, and sun seeking northern visitors.
Night falling rain stirs dreams of an orchestra of dripping leaves,splashing paths and roof tops
performing an impromptu drum roll.
But in the morning a calm atmosphere prevails with the occasional drip left to descend and make its way by leaf and branch to the vegetation beneath.
Grey clouds protect the land from a dying September sun
conserving a sharp hot moment of penetration when least expected.
Then, and only then, swim naked in the enclosed bay surrounded by cliffs and caves where tax free profiteering once flourished to the sway of the cutlass and eye patch of the Adriatic sea dog.
But now a haven, to refresh tired limbs
and repel the rays of sun striving to burn each pigment of exposed skin.
Feet tread wearily on sharp moving grit.
The nude torso fights to gain balance on land once more while shedding sea salt drips in eyes and to the dry shore
leaving footprints of a moment in time.
Scent the rosemary and mint in flared nostrils recalling servings of hot roast lamb,
while seeing the very same beasts roaming the Amalfi hills oblivious to their future, and me to mine.