Last Friday morning, Tuscany painted me a farewell picture:
The same valley 24 hours before:
Blue Skies in Tuscany
Blue skies in Tuscany,
Distant curving hills,
Cypresses and olive groves...
And flower-strewn rills.
Villas...and oak trees,
Old and evergreen,
Swallowtails that dance the hours;
Small lizards rarely seen.
The Oriole's lone recital
From a shaded bough;
Soft, warm breezes
That waft the cloudlets slow.
Lilac and yellow broom...
A splash of brightest hue;
Large, dark metallic bees
That visit swift and true.
Hot Sun...and strong scents;
The grasshopper that rasps its joy...
Amidst the lilting grasses...
That beckon and alloy.
Blue skies in Tuscany,
Distant curving hills,
Cypresses and olive groves...
And flower-strewn rills.
Villas...and oak trees,
Old and evergreen,
Swallowtails that dance the hours;
Small lizards rarely seen.
The Oriole's lone recital
From a shaded bough;
Soft, warm breezes
That waft the cloudlets slow.
Lilac and yellow broom...
A splash of brightest hue;
Large, dark metallic bees
That visit swift and true.
Hot Sun...and strong scents;
The grasshopper that rasps its joy...
Amidst the lilting grasses...
That beckon and alloy.
~Hugh David Loxdale
Sigh. Happy Friday, everyone.

