Monday April 14th 2008 ~ Reflections written on a park bench
A soft Spring breeze touches my arms with a slight coolness, ruffling the pages of the Bible open on my lap. The pungent smell of freshly trimmed grass arrests my nose. A gravelly old voice drifts over the park as its owner walks steadily on the path, discoursing with his companion, probably about yesterday's election. I've lost count of the rounds they made. What a glorious day to be class free and in Italy.
I found it hard to untangle myself from the pudgey covers and plot of my book this morning after I had settled back into bed when breakfast was over. The lure of a peaceful Spring day compelled me out of Sierra's fictional world and into the shower. Slipping my bare feet into the straps of sandals mom had brought me, I reveled in the fact that I could pull on capris and a short sleeve blouse.
A tour group has just piled into the opposite end of the park, admiring the stunning valley below San Pietro. Mr. Mower can't be inconvenienced by the newcomers and continues to noisily cut the green spaces down to size. A group of young men are forced to roll out of comfortable formation on the lawn as the machine rumbles close to their backs, flinging mulch into the conversation.
Large marshmallow clouds have seemingly appeared out of nowhere, creeping stealthily into the azure landscape above me; however, such pure fluff is anything but threatening. I'm hoping some of the sun's golden rays will choose to linger in my darkening tresses.
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