THE LIGHT IN ITALY

6:30am. We slept with the windows open last night and wrinkled white cotton sheets cover our bodies. I hear the birds first; their songs float like notes of wind chimes in the air. The weather has been spectacular this week with blindingly-bright sun and pale blue skies.

The light is good in our room and as I sit on the bed putting on my makeup, my mirror reflects a face filled with lines. Maybe the light in our room is too good as I’m annoyed they are there. I wonder about the last three centuries of women who sat in this same light-filled room and wonder if they too, were annoyed by the lines they saw. And then I decide I’ve earned these lines, the slackness in my skin, the looseness in my neck; they have been hard-fought and as my thoughts carry me back over the last 20 years I realize how far I’ve come, how far I still must journey.

My Professor loves my lines and I love his lines – especially the laugh lines around his eyes because they tell me he is happy. He embraces growing old with me and I embrace growing old with him.

Bring on the light.

Buono Martedi (good Tuesday) from Villa Boccelli in Ponte a Moriano.

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