Halfway Over the Hill

 Back in September 2017  Standing on tiptoe in the narrow bathroom of my hired lodging in the hilltown of Ilboli, I watched a spectacular show playing out in the night sky through the thin strip of window set high in the wall. Lightening leapt off the shingle roofs, the frenetic sirocco known locally as the FaOoohn whipped round the chimney stacks and whistled inside. The distant hills flashed in and out of existence; and between rumbles and the drumming sluice of heavy rain, deafening thunderclaps rung through the startled house. The naked light bulbs over the wash basin quivered and dimmed repeatedly. Out of the corner of my eye, I was intensely aware of the shadows. I backed out of the bathroom and started at my own image in the mirror. This was my last day here, I'd been on edge all week. The cottage which had been undergoing essential renovation was ready to be moved into. I was going to brave it for a couple of weeks before returning to Paris. My first day there ...

About Abruzzo:  Not so long ago Abruzzo was one of the poorest regions in Italy but now the inhabitants have a good income owing to all the ugly manufacturing plants that have sprung up along the coast and around big towns. They live work-heavy double lives as factory workers and smallholders. Their croft is their second home, and their main one is in the village or town. Tradition runs deep in this rural community. And I have yet to be initiated into the mysteries of local logic. About me: In my early twenties I considered writing but did not produce a page for over 30 years, despite regularly acquiring beautiful blank notebooks. Motivation sunk like a stone in the slough of despond that we know as depression.  Much has been said about that unenviable state. The universal struggle for self-worth is fought feebly and without conviction.  A child will cry her woes to sullen oblivion. And then, in spite of herself, she will grab the unfinished Book of Life and, turni...

Belated blog from the Italian Jungle (denoted as such by a friend from the sophisticated North)  Seven years on.... from first being parachuted into the green wilderness of Abruzzo, hoping to be redeemed by the solace of nature... Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita,  mi ritrovai per una città oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita.*. ‐----------‐------------- Shooting Sunday Mid-June 2021 - It's the start of my second summer in my hillside home. I'm sitting on my favourite spot between the great oak  and the cherry trees.   I have a niche view of hill and valley. Spread before me is a perfect picture of rustic charm, artfully lit by the the Italian sun. Exquisite  birdsong. A caressing 23 degrees. Everything looks, sounds and feels right.     I can even breathe,  which I couldn't in the city. And then... I have taken refuge inside the house because I heard some muted shooting. For a while, we were plagued by constant shooting at ...