Columba

Not at all to be confused with Peter Falk,
La Columba is the Italian word for dove:
A term that has special meaning at Easter,
When all the shops are overrun with pink.

Late yesterday at La Piazza del Mercato,
The historical site of the town’s old market,
We picked out our cake at the corner negozio
Known for the quality of its olio e balsamico.

After dinner, it was time to carve the bird.
Since she has a sweet spot for La Columba,
Rebecca held the honors in her loving hand:
Light morsels of heaven unlike any fruit cake.

Il Gatto e I Gatti

First, a singular cat
Who showed up at
Our open doorway
While we napped.

Later, a herd of cats
Who showed up at
The feeding trough
While we walked.

Moving Round About the Town

Last fall, in the afterglow of the Spoleto Festival’s 50th Anniversary, we counted the lune bianche of celebration installed around the town.

The first time out this spring, we were counting on supplying the first round of our daily bread at a favorite frutta e verdura shop.

Only it was closed, perhaps for good. And as our day of transition dragged on, “Affittasi” signs on familiar haunts kept showing up everywhere.

Late this evening, on our way home along Via del Mercado, we came across an unknown Italian word attached to a no less puzzling art series.

Dumb struck by the sense of losses all over, we can’t help but think someone had the bright idea to cover up empty window fronts with temporary decorations.

Yet (thanks to Google translate), it turns out “Urban Screens” may prove to be just another case of a hill town’s penchant for art in its midst.

Italian and Me

Aboard the plane to the eternal city
Once the spring comes round at last
I have time to ponder the mystery
Of a language course I never passed.

Still with wandering steps and slow,
Hand in hand we take our casual way
Up and down the familiar hills of Spoleto
Searching for the words we long to say.

Coming Down Around the Town

One by one, the moons fall
Well before we are done
With the final count.

Madness, an impossible
Problem set for ourself:
Who knew what mischief?

Only now, a year later,
Do I discover the error
In the prior bookmaking.

Detached Fresco, from Chiesa dei SS. Giovanni e Paola

At the Rocca museum is “the Martyrdom of the Saints,”
A fresco I could only manage to misalign as a triptych:

What Else? Rebecca at the Well

On Our Way to the Rocca, We Uncover More of the Festival’s History

Never knew, for instance, that Gian Carlo asked Lucca first.
Had they agreed to block off traffic, who knows where we’d be.
Ignorant, too, of how much the festival did to develop the city:
Encouraging hotels and restaurants, restorations and shops, along
With the arts and artists that Gian Carlo had resolved to nurture.

Casa Romana: A Beauty Unearthed

Bicycles in the City