Oct. 19, 1944 The wind rattles at the window panes and the branches of the trees sway from side to side. The leaves are twirled in the wild merry-go-round of the wind until they sink to rest on the earth. A fresh gust brings more leaves and these mingle with the others in a whirlingContinue reading “Leaves”
Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri
Come and Gone
Australia to Orvieto to Australia, via Libia and Sweden. There was once a ruin (once a farm house) on a hill overlooking the valley. The stones had long decided to go their own way and creatures of various kinds had taken up their abode in cracks and overhanging shelters. Neither four-footed animal nor Christian cameContinue reading “Come and Gone”
Me, Myself, and My Shadow
Traces of a shadow, like the life in a room, remain where they have been cast on the sand, in the earth, on the paving. We have left a trace of ourselves as our shadow goes to join the multiple shadows of the past. Odysseus once cast a shadow here. And Priam and those whoContinue reading “Me, Myself, and My Shadow”
Sisters
On the Advantages and Disadvantages of Having a Sister Sept. 19, 1944 I have a sister. She, in my opinion, is usually a spoiled brat. But that is only my opinion. Being the youngest of the family, she is naturally rather spoiled. How I wish that she were an angelic, helpful sister! But she isn’tContinue reading “Sisters”
In Remembrance of Nennella (d. 4 January 2022)
My Lady of the Roses There is talk of roses And I think of you. There is talk of you and I think “roses”. The rose reflects your soul and you reflect your roses. Roses. Your roses. Pruned, nurtured, tended, loved. Perfect for that is your desire. Natural but perfect. Every rose in the rightContinue reading “In Remembrance of Nennella (d. 4 January 2022)”
Farm Reminiscences
Reminiscences Recollections Once upon a time Time for nostalgia There was once a farm, once upon a time many years ago, that now existed only in her memories. It, too, had a story of its own, a life story of a home and of a hill. And of the young woman who lived there. WhenContinue reading “Farm Reminiscences”
Christmas Greetings
So All Good Wishes For a Peaceful Christmas and Promises of a Better 2022, from all of us in Orvieto, whether just temporarily here for the Holidays or thinking of the future, from Costanza, Claudio and Lamberto and his five cats and, of course, from me and Teah, the dog. And so, with visions ofContinue reading “Christmas Greetings”
Christmas
Now that I’m 92 and don’t have other responsibilities, I start wondering what Christmas meant to me when I was a child, what it meant to my children and to my grandchild. Questions arise as to what Christmas really was for my Jewish friends (it is only recently that I learned about Hanukkah), to othersContinue reading “Christmas”
Two O’Clock
I lie in bed. Night has settled in. Taken over. Darkness flows into all corners, laps all objects in its embrace. I lie there. A web of words, whispering, wailing, insinuates itself into my conscious, my unconscious as I wait for sleep. I look at my clock. Luminescent numbers say it is two. I wait.Continue reading “Two O’Clock”
Erika High School Essay, Age 15
September 11, 1944 About Myself First, I would like to introduce you to my family and give you a picture of my home. There are only four of us, my gifted, exacting father, my sweet, ever-busy mother, my impish, nature-loving sister and myself. During the summer we all worked harder than ever for before the warContinue reading “Erika High School Essay, Age 15”
Foraging for Memories
Once upon a time little old ladies foraged for wild salad greens in the fallow fields along the road. Defined as weeds by many, crowding out more urbane peers, these humble plants gave spice and flavor to what otherwise would have been a more pedestrian dish. The little old ladies and their rough homespun apronsContinue reading “Foraging for Memories”
Revelations
Four photos: Revelations 1. Hemlock grove. Sun filtering through the towering trees. Danae, child of the earth, stands there alone, arms raised in adoration, welcoming this unearthly shower of gold. 2. It is still dark as he makes his way to the top of a mountain, with the sea down below. The air is coldContinue reading “Revelations”
Chairs Poem
A chair is made to be sat in. A chair presupposes a sitter. Straight-backed, enveloping, soft or hard, a chair has a personality all its own. That may or may not be that of its sitter. Chairs also sit and wait lined up against the wall or grouped around a table, anticipating a sitter. ScatteredContinue reading “Chairs Poem”
Chairs
Chairs. Can you imagine your house without chairs? A seat, with a back, generally meant for one person. A chair must have been one of the first things our Stone Age ancestors invented. Or let us say found useful. Perhaps just a boulder. Or a tree stump. Just something they could sit on. To beginContinue reading “Chairs”
Edna St. Vincent Millay Poem
A friend teaching retired professionals asked them to write their own versions of a well-known poem. I chose the poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay, a long-time favorite. Written over a hundred years ago, is it still valid? And mine, does it mirror what the world might be like in another hundred years? Edna St.Continue reading “Edna St. Vincent Millay Poem”
Every Room
Every room has a story to tell. Four walls, a floor and a ceiling, delineate, define a cube of space, home to memories of lives lived and now forgotten. Forgotten you say? You overlook the fact that the walls, layer upon layer, retain what they have seen, what they have heard. Elusive ghostly shadows fleetinglyContinue reading “Every Room”
Nennella’s Teapots
Teapots, like books, sit quietly on their shelves throughout the day. At least Nennella’s teapots do. Oh my, you remark when you enter the day room. There they are, next to the fireplace, next to the French window, next to the door that leads to the hall. Oh my. Porcelain, earthenware, brass, ceramic. An armyContinue reading “Nennella’s Teapots”
On Finding a Fragment
On finding a fragment of an “Etruscan” vase. In digging up my garden, I unearth a fragment of what was once a vessel of some sort. As I wipe away the earth, an enormous eye in black gloss paint stares up at me. Thin-walled, subtly curving, one edge softly rounded, this inch-long shard is allContinue reading “On Finding a Fragment”
Vaphio Cup
My Vaphio cup and memories The Vaphio cup with its scene of the domestication of wild bulls. The one I have is of course a reproduction of the over 3000-year old original in the museum in Athens and is not gold and I doubt that any metal cleaner would make it look as if itContinue reading “Vaphio Cup”
A Letter
A letter. Hand-written on a piece of paper, folded and put into an envelope, consigned to the posts where it will be put into a bin or a canvas bag with others, destination overseas. A hand-written letter. Surely not from yesterday. Too old-fashioned. Too time consuming. Taking too long to arrive. Too everything. Still, IContinue reading “A Letter”
Erika Bizzarri 