Early Sunday morning on the Corso. (with thanks to Rabindranath Tagore) The streetlights are still on, and a fresh morning breeze keeps me company as I walk along the Corso. Not a soul in sight, yet I’m not alone. Light laughter echoes up the street, turns into the lane with its wooden horses. A blackContinue reading “Early Sunday”
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Watcher, Giulio, George, Jean IV
George and Jean In the beginning, before Giulio, before those others, who then became part of my life, there was George. Golden jade dragons: George was, perhaps, the first of the people who had meant something to me. I had never had a crush on my high school classmates – indeed, never had a date.Continue reading “Watcher, Giulio, George, Jean IV”
On a Farm One Makes Hay
Making hay was a story by itself. We used what we called our tractor, but which was actually a pick-up truck painted red, to pull the mowing machine with one of us sitting on it, raising and lowering the double row of blades that moved back and forth cutting the grass. The next step wasContinue reading “On a Farm One Makes Hay”
The Watcher: Florence continued III
I watched. I wondered if I could call them friends. Acquaintances was, perhaps, a better word. Some did though become real friends. Like il Dottore. I had been going through some papers to find an address – I must say I hate to throw papers of whatever kind away, including grocery lists – when aContinue reading “The Watcher: Florence continued III”
The Cat
Six a.m. Thump on the bed. Over to the window sill. The cat sits herself down and looks outside. Immobile, she stares out the window. I raise my head and look out too but all is calm. The leaves hang motionless, suspended, waiting for a breeze. Almost imperceptibly dawn merges into day. The cat Continue reading “The Cat”
Erika Bizzarri 