(A series of personal observations recorded as Italy takes action against the spread of Covid-19, first published March 11, 2020)
My Italia is not entirely herself today. Sure, she still is beautiful, even with her dust mask half on, hole cut out for her nose to peek through (I don't correct her, she's never been practical and one must breathe, even in times like these). She's beautiful even with shutters where there should be open doors and the smell of coffee. But she’s quieter than usual on a sunny late winter morning; the warmth and light have not brought with them the expected chaos. And, when we meet halfway through the empty piazza, she is perhaps just a little less exuberant in her affection: should I kiss you? Should I not kiss you? (Ok maybe just this once as I would be sorry to have missed the chance.)
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Looking through the fence, through the carefully pruned and tied up climbing roses which just now are sprouting new red shoots, to where there should have been sown rows of favas already dark green and leggy between the mounds of grey artichokes, and likely the last of last autumn’s fat ruffled cabbages alongside slim feathery bulbs of fennel, but instead, finding dry patches of weeds and a shovel propped against the stone wall at the far end of the garden, comes an understanding, belatedly, of that which earlier in the morning, from the church down in the piazza, was an unscheduled long ringing of bells.
First published March 6, 2020 |
MBI added this blog as a way to share some thoughts and experiences around the impact of Covid-19 on my life here in Southern Italy. These posts have been a near-daily practice during this time and are largely unedited, most having been first posted on Facebook. They are of course in order with the most recent entry on the first page. I invite you to explore previous posts or even start from the beginning. Archives
June 2022
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