According to the Weather Channel

This is what thunderstorms looks like in Spoleto.

As Close As My Camera Can Get

To the look and feel of a small, stone-arched peace of mind:

Church of S. Gregorio Maggiore, c. 1079

Rock of Sage

Were there a botanist within me, he would have a clue
As to the genus and species of any rock-defying brute.

Rest of Show

Further Down the Corso

Go figure.

Artisti di Strata

Meanwhile, a promise of artists in the streets has us headed up and down and all around the town, before arriving at a point closer to home:

“Mettiamoci all’OPERA…creando”

OK, in the first place we knew where Il Laboratorio was going to be, and when: Piazza Pianciani dalle ore 16:00.

Then with the shouting in ALL CAPS, it looked as if we could expect a musical workshop–always a treat in our book.

As the translation begins, “Let’s … get to the … Let’s work … Let’s get to work creating …” what exactly?

So when we get there, it turns out all the translations were true: children creating, Aida playing, art happening.

Watch out for the one on the far right: she knows the whole story!

Spoleto a Colori 2018

For the older children, like the ones
Awake outside our windows last night,
The highlight of the holiday will come
May 1 at what they call the COLORmob.

Here again, apparently, the object
Is to stay up almost all the night
For music and an extra attraction:
A coat of many colors on everyone.

In Memoriam

Alas, Benito, We Did Not Know Him Well

On occasion, for different reasons and with regard to different persons, Rebecca and I have become aware of illnesses that beset the people in Spoleto we know.

The knowledge establishes a peculiar connection between us and this place: by no means intimate yet, the attachment grows closer with each new filament.

Like today, sadly we are told the reason for the sudden absence of Benito, our next-door neighbor to whom we hardly ever spoke except in passing.

Somewhere in town a notice will be posted in memoriam, while the service set for Monday is too sacred for our feeble salutations to intrude.

One night on the terrazzo, then, we will raise a flute of spirits to the poliziotto, remembering his rye smile at a mistimed buon giorno.