Dear friend,
I’ve thought about you a lot in the past few days. This must be the fourth letter I’ve written to you in my head already. What can I say, I miss your company! A lot of what I’m seeing here continues to remind me of you- and I have a deep desire to share it.
I took a train down south a couple days after arriving home. The contents of my suitcase are still splayed untidily across the floor of my flat. I’m now at the ‘hobbit house’ with the funny cone roofs- the one that drew me to this country over a year ago. I was meant to live here for a few months. Yet, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my time here- it is that our plans might point us in a direction we most desire…yet Life loves to take advantage of that pointed compass; secretly unveiling an agenda of her own.
I just took a stroll around the garden. I ventured into the back lot (hadn’t had the courage to sneak back here in ages! Too scared of the wasps and scorpions. They don’t seem to be around in the onsetting winter-chill). I said hello to the once familiar apple and fig and plum trees. They seemed to recognize me. Everything looked wild and overgrown.
I could hear the near-migraine-inducing shrill of us young children: bare-feet slapping the cement as we forcefully demanded victory from our plastic four-wheeled scooters by dragging them over the uneven pavement. Round and round and round and round we’d go in this garden. I stumbled backward and watched as we rudely pushed past me lingering here, ruminating– uncaring and unaware: only eager to overtake the other and race them back down to the bottom of the garden…just to do it all over again. How we managed to do it in the summer heat, I will never know.
This entire letter could be filled with the words ‘round and’ I’d still not aptly enumerate the times we’d circle in a single day- much less a single summer…much less a single childhood. This movemented memory snuck a grin behind my lips. I’m thankful for the memory, and thankful for the grown-ups who let us stub our toes, scrape our knees and get up to all sorts of no-good nonsense here in this wild little world of ours.
The key-fixture to the large gate is rusted over, so I had to hop it. There was a very small, very old woman passing right in front of me. She was pushing a bike up the inclined road and looking at me with an eyebrow raised as I successfully cleared the fence. I’m worried she might think I’m a trespasser. For a moment, it almost seemed as though she’d smiled knowingly at me. Maybe she’d seen me do this before many years ago? I don’t recognize her.
I’m now watching her push her thin-railed bike up this hill and I am in awe. The back of her bike balances the weight of a large sack-of-something. I wonder what’s in that sack? She looked to be past eighty, yet her slow pace carries her and her cargo steadily upward. I think I’d consider myself fortunate if I could get to that age and push a bike as frail as my bones (with such a large sack) up a hill…and I wonder for how long she’s been pushing? Maybe she has a friend in one of the farm houses nearby.
The road is covered in thick chunks and smudges of red mud. I’d smear some onto these pages for you…but this is just a letter in my mind– and I don’t really wish to coat my fingers in clay on the outbound journey. Maybe on the way back…
The air is chilled so it just kisses my cheeks and nose, without me losing sense of their touch. And it smells as if it’s been recently washed. The woman is up ahead of me, rounding the corner bend in the road. I love it here. I feel loved here. The prickly blackberry brambles on the side of the road look burnt. It was, admittedly, a hot summer.
I’m catching up to the woman. I feel a bit guilty…I’m not rushing my pace- yet, my young, strong legs…I don’t like the thought of passing her so easily. I think I’ll walk with her a-ways and ask her what is in her sack.
What a delight! Oh! My heart feels so full!
I asked her what she was carrying :) ‘chicorie’, came a soft- nearly inaudible- reply. By the looks of it, that sack of chicory will be lasting her the whole winter…Her voice was so frail. Between the softness of her breath, her lip-curled gums, and her dialect- I was amazed to find I could understand her! She asked me if I had a house here- and I told her it was my grandma’s house and that I was visiting from nearby. She asked where I was headed: verso l'acquedotto, I replied. Ah, she smiled. I noticed her eyes, just as soft and splendid and smiling as her voice. They were beaming from behind the wrinkles weighing down her eyelids.
She started telling me about the nature of men and I did my best to suppress a chuckle: gli uomini…loru fann’ chel che voglion’. Mie figlia ha fattu i figli, e lui sennandatu. Gli uomini. Loru possun far cusi (the father of her daughter’s children had left them, and this is because men are free to take off and go as they please. No responsibilities, no nothing). She didn’t seem angry about it, just perhaps a little sad…maybe worried for her daughter. Her eyes just looked rueful. Maybe it was just the softness of her voice and palpebrae that concealed her feelings.
Maybe this too is a part of getting old…Do our emotions mimic our bodies?…too tired to feel fervent rage? Or do our bodies still truthfully convey what’s hidden beneath vocal and skin folds? (I decided a few years ago that with all the sun already soaked into my skin…I better start smiling a whole lot more…I want my wrinkles to look like smiles :))
She told me she was heading to her home, and she mentioned the light fixtures outside needed mending. She told me that was the house her mother raised her in, and how back then- they didn’t have electricity. I asked if this was her house, and she said ‘no, mine is this one here’, and we approached the next one up.
Io sono qua. quando vuoi, vieni.
Love is all I felt; and she left me with this invitation.
This shared stroll with a stranger lasted about two minutes. Certainly not more. I think I’ll head to the ashram. Maybe it’s open to the public again now that covid restrictions have lessened. I haven’t been yet.
There’s an insatiably clamorous noise coming from my favorite eucalyptus up ahead!! I tried to capture the soundscape for you- but as soon as my phone turned back on: silence. Followed by an equally astounding full-fluttering sound. I looked up and saw hundreds of birds take off from their hiding nooks within the large tree and whhoooshh away! I think it’s a sign to keep this phone turned off. I think I’ll walk past the tree. See if my friend, the horse, is out today.
Alas, no horse. Just a grouchy looking white cat, a hibernating loquat tree, and beautiful fields.
I just left the ashram. It was good. It was very good. I think I’ll wait to tell you about it in person, next time we meet. There was also a funny incident with a big woofer.
Oh! Before I forget, I picked up a few leaves for you! The olive leaves are from the garden. I picked a few other branches to take home with me as well. The eucalyptus leaf is from the ashram. I love the smell of eucalyptus. Reminds me of home.
The olive trees here are amazing. You’d like them, for sure. Some of them are so old. So so so old. Their rough, dark bark is all twisted in perfect torque. I was wondering the other day where my innate movement comes from when I dance: and here I am now, seeing myself in their contortions. Notice the underside of the olive leaf: in the right sunlight and breeze…they shimmer like full heads of tousled silver hair. I always think of the Ents when I pass by them: Where are they walking to? How long will it take them to get there? Can they take me with them? Will I ever be slow enough to keep up?
I’m heading back down around the bend now. My fingers and toes are feeling a bit…non-existent. I’ll go warm them up in a– Oh! Oh Wait!! Hear that sound? It’s the birds again!!! And their flapped whooshing!! Where…hmmm…is it coming fro–
!! friend !! How do I even begin to describe what I just experienced to you!! Each one of my senses is still trying to make recursive sense of themselves! I think I might just need another lifetime to try and describe what I just witnessed…all I will say now is that each cell in my body is lifted and crying from joy. How is it that such beauty exists in our world? And I’m only here witnessing a crumb of it.
I think I’ll leave you here. Maybe someday I’ll get to show you this space, these colors, these scents and sounds and movements too. I think you’d like it. In the meantime, I hope you are well and living and observing out your own life. I cannot wait to hear more of all your adventures, and maybe we’ll embark on a few together soon :)
love xx
p.s. isn’t grown-ups such a funny saying? They are just people who have grown upward! Like the trees! At least, in some cases…what a relief, either way.