Thursday, 1 March 2018


Italians are not the quietest of folk. Probably in the same way Londoners regard Australians as somewhat noisy as they yakityak on the tube despite the surrounding ( glaring) silence. Italians are noisy on the bus, on the train, in the street; even their shoes clip the pavement in a more sonorous manner. I don't even know if there is an Italian word for 'whisper'. Actually, probably sotto voce but that undermines my point. Italian are loud. Period.

Ah, but not last night. Last night the streets were silent. Quietened by the snow. Not a car whizzed past nor voice sang out ALL night. I know this because I was awake for a lot of it. Finally, I got out of bed and looked out onto the street and saw how beautiful it was. So I went out and it was just me and the street and the night all whispering together.

I wasn't actually the only person who was up as it turned out. Sergio, the retired butcher, who lives down the road was up from watching the deer and the wolves running through the valley below. The reason I know this is because I have recently started teaching his daughter and we ran into each other later the same day; not because I am spying on the butcher in the after hours. 

I did not know there are wolves in the valley. 
I am glad the artichokes are up high with me.

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