It was a picture postcard, mid-October day

with the feel of Connecticut –

the kind they call Indian Summer.

There was that undeniable, crisp autumn smell in the air

that belongs only to October,

and she shuffled through leaves as she walked,

the warmth of the sun on her shoulders.

She continued down narrow winding roads –

past corn fields and the castle –

the one called Peschiera Borromeo,

stopping to pet a stray dog on the way.

Then strolled through the gates of the old stone inn

where she sat in the garden, sipping hot lemon tea.

And when finished, she retraced her steps,

heading toward home –

with thoughts of her next autumn outing.