Returning Home

It's a particularly splendid day after the torrents of rain of the past few days. The flowers continue to flourish, the table invites a sit to take in the view and enjoy the warmth.

While I've been away the hot peppers matured from green to bright red and have already been shared with eager neighbors. The little ones from Thailand are extra zippy. The bigger Italian ones don't skimp on the heat, though, and are plumped out well. All are grown from seed this year and thrive in this southern exposure.

The air is fragrant with lavender as the flowers not picked die back and scatter grains of scent on the balcony near the table. A good book (I'm currently re-reading The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings trilogy), a cup of tea, Bocelli and Brightman singing in the background and a slant of sun under the awning complete the scene. Ahhh, it's good to be home.

And dusk falls.

This Abruzzo Sky

It canopies vineyards and olive groves, this breadth of sky
stretched from the Adriatic to Apennine Mountains
tainted with faintest evening pink, sunset colors.

Everything about this Italian landscape colors
my writing these days, instructs me: specific sky,
named sea, these particular mountains

that I see from my small balcony, Majella Mountains,
part of the Apennine's, darkening as twilight colors
of blue washed with pink change minute by minute this Abruzzo sky.

This strict instruction colors how I apprehend the sky over us all, the mountains we all climb.



This Tritina, a form described last week over at dVerse Poets Pub and offered tonight on Open Link night, came from a conversation with Erin from in search of white space about the importance of naming, and from today's view from my balcony (photo above) in my little corner of the world.

Friday Photo

This plant grows outside my office window. It had rain drops on it yesterday glistening in the sun. I think she's very beautiful.