The leaves have turned...

September 26, 2009

The leaves of Castiglione had turned a golden brown and a smoky burnt orange. Autumn was almost over and a deep chill had crept into the ever shortening days. As we descended the narrow, winding road towards the historic centre, I breathed in the view of the surrounding towns and mountains. A farmer with his flock of sheep ushered them down the side of the hill. The church at the entrance to the town stood tall and proud, as always. The car squeezed through the narrow street, almost shaving off its side mirrors. This had become a place of rest for me, a place of peace.

As we prepared dinner that night, strangely a feast of Mexican delights, I sipped a glass of the new season wine and it filled my head with the giddiness of a 14-year-old girl. He told me to try the Provolone cheese that his mother had bought that day. His fingers lightly brushed my lips as he placed the cheese into my mouth. If I could have frozen that moment in time, I would have. It was a perfect moment in life, where all of your senses are hyper alert, welcoming every experience and sensation. Pippo strumming the guitar in the lounge room; the perfume of cumin from the chilli con carne steaming and swirling throughout the kitchen; the feel of the soft, ripe avocado in my hand; and the tingle of the wine upon my tongue.

Most of all I felt his stare. A deep lingering stare that reached inside and settled upon a place in my heart. I shuffled awkwardly through the kitchen and tried to ignore the feeling that had already spilled over and was now rushing through my entire body. The lid of emotion had been lifted.