I know it is supposed to be April showers, but clearly that applies only to other countries. What is so strange is that I am so far removed from the natural cycle in this stone city that though the heavens are opening up and pouring forth, cleansing the grime of winter away, I can not write. There is a hollow, dry space in my creative landscape that will not yeild anything. Nothing. I have no idea what caused it, usually when lonliness, depression or other dark spots in the psyche begin to show, that is when I am most productive. Not now.
However, I do feel inspired to do other things. There is a terraced green hill on the other side of the Arno that I can see from Via da Benci. It looks like a jewel sitting up there emitting the future of Spring. Everytime I see it, I just want to roll down it. Tumble down bruised and grass stained, loving the touch of the earth. To be 6 and experience the momentum of a good hill—body spinning almost out of control, stopping too soon, breathless, itchy, wanting to do it again. Wouldn’t it be nice to send the inner child out, clear a path and watch her play? I’ll let you know if I succeed.
Speaking of children. I get to see my god-daughter today! And of course my darling and dear friend Lori, as well as the English evil genius Darryl. Very exciting — I’m sure you will all have to suffer through pictures soon!