Posted by on Sep 4, 2016 | 20 comments

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See how still.  Not a ripple in the warm, warm sea.  And all the tourists still asleep in early morn.

Well, I’m out here rolling around on the terrace in the most amazing wind from Spain and THAT wind comes from North Africa and it is like rolling around in a giant silk handkerchief, smooth and cool and lovely and I don’t seem to be able to do anything but roll around all day and feel this magical wind.

There is something so nostalgic about winds like this, something very primordial, whatever that is.  Something that came before but I can’t put my paw on it.  The name for a sweet wind like this in Italian is venticello…little wind…but this one is often fairly brisk, just incredibly caressing.  Often, after we eat lunch outdoors, the wind comes up and puts all of us into a kind of hypnotic trance.  We can hardly move and so do not.  I have a place under a bush that I love and I go there on the cool tile of the terrace and space out and think.  In fact, I do a lot of pondering there.  As in, I hope this summer lasts a bit longer,  I hope the winter doesn’t come too soon and make us eat inside, I hope I don’t have to be house-bound and can’t rummage around in my garden.  Things like that.

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Oh, the wind is up again…now it feels the way you would imagine a bath of cream would feel!

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And the gravel is warm, warm, and makes me snoozy.

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Except when I pass the nip bed…

*****

A happy story from the incredible sadness of Amatrice in Italy.