Random writings of things I think about.....

I want to taste the beauty of life in a piece of cheese, in a carefully refined wine with all of its alluring aromatics and bold flavors.  I want to close my eyes on a warm sunny day in a small Italian alley restaurant and inhale the rugged, remote harvest of smells, sounds and tastes with all of my senses. I want to touch the bottomless pit of history that came before me, leaving awe inspiring, soul touching legacies beneath my feet as I walk on the cobblestoned earth where men have fought and died and where women have birthed and nurtured children.  In the silence of a still, dark night, I want the sounds of a foreign tongue to enter my ears and tease my senses, leaving me intrigued, wondering what it means. 

I want to feel unraveled by the quiet, poetic movement of lovers sharing a kiss, halfway between private and public under a dimly lit street lamp, where only they exist to themselves.  A hand on the waistline, a head leaned back as long, dark hair caress her shoulders, a deep desire possessing his eyes and although the street has a cacophony of yelling, revving engines and pollution rising from the gravel, they are transported into each others’ souls where everything else is a distant hum.   The smile of a stranger creeping into mine as our eyes meet, exchanging a secret unknown to both of us – two strangers from different worlds apart, yet speak a language of “hello” that neither need to utter any word – a smile, where neither syntactic, semantics nor pragmatics are necessary to understand it.

Walking along a sandy road, the city in the far distance behind me, trees lining each side of me, I can feel the dust in my nostrils and it causes a loud, echoing sneeze.  I bring my dusty, brown feet into the old brick house. Alone.  Silent.   The big Tuscan villa is a clear indication that it has framed the deeper pleasures of living, culture and love for many decades.  I want to take it in its vastness.  The old stone walls speak to me of layers of history and tradition. The floor is cold beneath my feet as I move toward the window which creeks as I slowly open it to reveal a barren garden embraced by the wind, reminding me that waves of time and sweat have ploughed this land. I begin to wonder.

Walking through the untouched garden, rain scarcely said hello for many days.  This barrenness has a magnetic pull on my psyche. I feel her.. I know her. The middle finger touches the withering rose, once red, plush, soft, youthful, beautiful.  I feel her. I see her.  I know her.  I look up and passing by the wooden cracked gate, is an old priest in a long black robe. He nods at me and again.. the smile.
I reach down into the dry soil and grasp it in my hand, clasped tightly.  I want to be like the gods who awaken me when I am broken, to breath the breathe of life and pour out my tears that this Tuscan earth may live again.