Cocooned in a cottage high in the Apuan Alps.
A remote, sun baked little house.
They walked every day ...
they swam in the river,
then returned to their cottage to cook simple food.
(Mr VJ making pesto!)
They drove the twisted road down the mountain,
to stock up at the market.
Practising her limited Italian, the grocer smiled
and gave her a gift of bunches of fragrant basil and
feathery parsley to go with their tomatoes and peppers.
His gesture made her happy all day ...
They drove to Lucca and Barga ...
These guys made her cry ...
Sometimes they took the train ...
They browsed an antiques market ...
They stood on the Devil's Bridge.
Went higher into the mountains by cable car ...
And joined in with the fun of the fiesta ...
But sometimes ...
they just sat and did nothing.
Listening to church bells echo across the valley ...
Staring at basking geckos.
The scent of jasmine heavy in the air.
She loves this place so much.
some may mock her and say,
"pah, it is just a too hot, too decrepit, too quiet,
little house in a village in the too distant hills".
But for her ... it gives the gift of time ... and space.
She sings 'Summertime' to her little man,
as she did when he was a baby.
They read, they play.
They watch life around them.
They have time.
At home, every day ...
she misses time.