Wednesday, April 20, 2011

TTITIM #7: The View from the Pool in the Morning

Every morning (at least 99.9% of the time), whether I’m living in San Martino, Italy, or Seattle, USA,  I take the dogs for a walk almost first thing. In Seattle, I usually take them separately (cause it’s easier in our neighborhood full of other dogs, cats, and all that), Rory first then Sookie. But here in Italy, I take them around the yard (not just the dog yard, but the full three-level gigantic yard) together. We tend to walk through the dog yard (which is fenced in), down the straight grassy stretch to the pool’s front edge, up the stone stairs to the olive grove, around a bit, down the slope to the back side of the pool, down the circular steps, through the tall grass pasture, up the slope to the long grassy walk from dog yard to pool and back into the dog yard. A nice little 20-minute-ish ramble to smell, sniff, pee, eat from the deer scat buffet (the dogs, not me), and wake up. We usually only stop for more than a couple seconds at one spot, the back side of the pool. It’s about the middle of the walk, and a good stop to make the dogs sit, catch their breath, calm down if the little neighbor dogs have been yapping incessantly (driving Rory nuttier than normal), and have a snack (tends to be hotdogs, if you’re interested). While the dogs are snacking, I take a moment to look out, over the grass pasture, over the neighbor’s field, and out farther, over the valley we live above, the far western corner of the Niccone Valley, our own corner of the Italy, a spot I think is as beautiful as any other spot in the world. No picture does it justice, definitely not this one, but I took it this morning, about 8:30 am, and it’ll at least give you an idea of what, soon, sadly, I won’t see every morning:


1 comment:

  1. I liked this post a lot--all about loving where you are, and letting it go. Reminded me of these lines from a favorite Mary Oliver poem:

    Every year
    I have ever learned
    in my lifetime
    leads back to this: the fires
    and the black river of loss
    whose other side
    is salvation,
    whose meaning
    none of us will ever know.
    To live in this world
    you must be able
    to do three things:
    to love what is mortal;
    to hold it
    against your bones knowing
    your own life depends on it;
    and, when the time comes to let it go,
    to let it go.