How many hilltop villages does it take before I stop gasping at the sight of them? How many villages have I said I could live here? How many empty old homes are there in the French and Italian countryside?
The dream is to breath life back into these places. To be able to wind them up like a music box and watch daily life return. Farmers, shopkeepers, cafes, cats in the windows, bicycles leaning against the wall, lace curtains billowing over a pot of red geraniums.
Instead my imagination toys with the possibility and admires the soul the still reaches out.
Leave a Reply