April 5, 2010
The Church Bells chime their usual melody, inviting or rather reminding the locals that it is the holy day and to come and repent. There are clouds but the sun has arrived and I am sitting on my balcony listening to the cars pass on the street below and the birds chatter in the thick shrubby trees of the piazza opposite. Oh Italy, How I love thee... let me count the ways!
A spring morning; the voice of a young Catanese boy sings “Il sole e` arrivato”; Two old men sitting on the bench in the piazza who are taking care of business; My pot plant of pink cyclamens in bloom; The view of the ocean, The thought of granita with brioche. Do I need to keep counting the ways? Really?
My concern is myself. Do I see myself happy here long term? Do I want to put down roots? Do I want to bear fruit and have birds nest in my branches? My thoughts swirl. The answer I think is yes, but I want to be sure and the fear of making a wrong choice continues to disturb me. Why can’t I trust that I am exactly where I need to be in this moment in my life? That nothing that is meant for me, will pass me by. Nothing!
A Jovanotti song plays in my head. And I realise that my thoughts are becoming more and more Italian. One bird in particular sings to me. His songs fills my heart and I am transported back to camping holidays and bushwalks in the Australia bush with my family when I was a child.
The bells call again. They remind me that everything is taken care of and I need not worry. I shut my eyes and continue to drink in the sun that has been missing for what feels like months.
The Church Bells chime their usual melody, inviting or rather reminding the locals that it is the holy day and to come and repent. There are clouds but the sun has arrived and I am sitting on my balcony listening to the cars pass on the street below and the birds chatter in the thick shrubby trees of the piazza opposite. Oh Italy, How I love thee... let me count the ways!
A spring morning; the voice of a young Catanese boy sings “Il sole e` arrivato”; Two old men sitting on the bench in the piazza who are taking care of business; My pot plant of pink cyclamens in bloom; The view of the ocean, The thought of granita with brioche. Do I need to keep counting the ways? Really?
My concern is myself. Do I see myself happy here long term? Do I want to put down roots? Do I want to bear fruit and have birds nest in my branches? My thoughts swirl. The answer I think is yes, but I want to be sure and the fear of making a wrong choice continues to disturb me. Why can’t I trust that I am exactly where I need to be in this moment in my life? That nothing that is meant for me, will pass me by. Nothing!
A Jovanotti song plays in my head. And I realise that my thoughts are becoming more and more Italian. One bird in particular sings to me. His songs fills my heart and I am transported back to camping holidays and bushwalks in the Australia bush with my family when I was a child.
The bells call again. They remind me that everything is taken care of and I need not worry. I shut my eyes and continue to drink in the sun that has been missing for what feels like months.
No comments:
Post a Comment