It rained all day but the streets were still full of with locals and tourists. The Red and black pub facades standing out among the store fronts on the narrow pedestrian street. Inside these classic bars are stone floors, well worn stools and tables, and whisky bottles lining the walls, some enshrined in glass cases. And then there is the Guinness glass with its iconic curved shape holding that black malty liquid topped in a light brown foam. In the street there is the sound of seagulls overhead and accents from all over the world. At night the music starts and the pubs are packed full. Rose-faced drinkers come in out of the rain, with matted hair and coats dripping,  to settle in for a long night of revelry. The people are porous, and unguarded.  Conversations strike up effortlessly.  The Irish have this way of making a quick verbal jab at you, a stab with a tease, and then suddenly your caught up in a poetic, quick witted spar with a stranger who just became friend.  Who are these chubby and colorful brothers from a distant land, who sing and dance with such ease, and with whom you can open your heart and then never see again. Tolken called them Hobbits.

June 26, 2017

We had a whole day to kill waiting for our night flight out of Malpenza so Peter, David and I  headed north to Lake Maggiore and a little town called Stressa. We renamed it “No-Stressa”

As we took the Exit off A22 we found ourselves winding down steep switchbacks with 180 degree curves barely wide enough for one car. Down below we caught a glimpse of the royal blue lake through the morning mist. It’s impossible to describe the play of light on the northern lakes of Italy. The colors seem altered like an old classic movie.

The harbor is full of 1950s style mahogany boats and the smell of their diesels mixes with the fresh lake air. The water is crystal clear, and the boat wakes lap against the stone promenade.

After breakfast we hiked up mount Matalone. The glacier of Monta Rosa could see to the north, and as we climbed in elevation we could see lakes Como and Garda to the east. We took and alpine coaster ride and sat at the mountain top bar enjoying a cold German beer.

On our way down we passed a long line of bikers peddling up the mountain. Mostly older men, very thin and fit and wearing tight cycle suits full of Italian advertisements.

In the afternoon we swam in the cool blue waters and laid out on the stone wall. Then we took a stroll into town and sat for a Caprese salad and Bolognese pasta. The carefree timelessness our our day together,and the magical  beauty of this place will linger on inside us.

June 25, 2017

Rising over the ridge at seven comes the Tuscan sun to wake up the sleepy olive trees. Can this hard dry earth accept another day in the sun? The earth is hard and wears a thin grass coat of burnt yellow and raw umber. The cypress trees stand tall and elegant like solders guarding the estates of man. The moist air in the folds of the hillside is burning off in a milky haze. The clay roofs begin to reflect light and reveal the farm houses that blend into the hillside. The air is cool but the sun-rays are already warm on the skin. No clouds. It will be a long run for brother sun, climbing a clear morning, hovering above a dusty afternoon and receding into a soft evening glow.

June 24,2017

Wind swept, stone struck, ringed walls. Flat plain below with patch work of yellow fields. It’s the feast of Corpus Christi and a Eucharistic procession flows through the ancient hill town. Plaster is missing in patches revealing 800 year old stonework. Every glance is a Fantasy photo, a James Bond movie setting. The sun is hot, my calves are burning on the steep inclines, but a cool wind sweeps down through the cave-like alleys to bring refreshment. Shop keepers sit at their small doorways, like hobbits. The cafe’s line their table and chairs out along the stone walls, and cover them with cloth, silver, and class wear. Leather and craft shops brings their rack out in the cobbled streets. Everything is fine, solid and lasting in this stone fantasy-town.

June 18, 2017

Food and Freedom

The Father gives himself completely and intimately to us and yet does not impose his way. He walks with us but does not chose our steps. He breaks bread with us, sustains and accompanies us, but we often don’t recognize Him. He is the way and he is on the way with us. We discover him in the breaking of the bread and he sets us free.

Sunday, June 18

The roof is made of rounded heavy orange clay tiles. They are lichen stained in patches of green,grey and black. The shutters and doors are heavy oak with iron bars to reinforce. The stone walls are 2 feet thick and rise up from the earth forming a kind of cave entrance into the hillside. There are no screens. The bedroom window opens out to steep olive groves rolling down like waves toward the flat yellow valley below. The wind surges and whistles through the hard scape and the heavy shutters bang on the stone. The House and land merge together into one. I am living in the earth, in stone, wood, clay and glass, made by man from the earth. The sun burns above and bakes below,  but these dense walls of stone and the broad limbs of the trees are holding back it furry. A cooling breeze moves within the house, refreshing my spirit.

 

June 18, 2017

Milky grey and white, opaque yet translucent, patches of pink, black spider veins and grey strands and bands.

Hard edged, cornerstones, yet soft worn curves and carvings. Impervious yet porous.

Gorgeous open facing and changing hue and mood with the light of day. Rain soaked becoming the color of human skin.

Absorbing, revealing and concealing the stains and stresses. The marble face of time.

June 16, 2017