RANDOM ECHOES – ITALY 3/11/05

Sadness on waking - the last time for a while to open these shutters and gaze into the morning nebbia; making out the yellow trees through it and wondering whether the sun will burn the mist off before or after lunch; of eons of time here in seasonal living; of making that fire fresh every morning watching it and nurturing it; of long evening conversations and little mysteries; of peace in the night; of all the new faces and old ones refreshed; of full bellied production.

Coming close to something – as the final chores of tidying and cleaning the cottage are done and we are trying to put off our inevitable departure, a Robin flies through the open front door, circles the kitchen and living area and comes to rest on one of the wooden struts across the window opposite where it sits unperturbed for a few moments watching, twitches and dips its beautiful head keeping an eye on me as I come closer to open the window for it; but before I do it flies up, across the room and straight out the open door, under the pergola and is gone.

Goodbyes in car parks – the first in the hospital in Citta della Pieve, the mist cold and the last image of my father, who seems sad and a little reduced, walking through the umbrella pines to the front door to have stitches removed; then goodbye to Mum in the station car park and she is all smiles and strength.

Rome – night flight out, the city spread like a lit computer board or something similar; I leave a small piece of heart behind (sacred heart, bleeding heart?) each time I leave, this one possibly the biggest of all.

On the plane I can’t help thinking of Caravaggio’s clashes with the authorities of his time, almost a plot to misrepresent and humiliate him by the church (and by jealous contemporaries) because of his originality, his raw naturalism, his representation of the real. These deemed too controversial for a church that could and would only deal in the sanctified, mannered images of religion; it’s ‘best’ advertising.

I miss the artichokes. Ciao.