HERE A MOO, THERE A MOO…

6 June 2012

We arrived in Buonconvento just after lunch, driving the last few miles south from Siena on roads so familiar and rich with memory, we wept. We had our Adagio CD playing and felt our bodies and inner spirits relax into that rhythm, it’s what I call the rhythm of ‘no should’s.’ It’s a gentle meander, a pace that describes the arc of a Tuscan day. The way it seems to stretch and beckon is so inviting to me. When I am here I feel as though I am in ‘right’ time, in that time becomes non-linear; it’s a voluptuous land and being here rounds my edges, softens my defenses and connects me to the moment in such a way that it is possible to feel every moment that ever was and ever will be.

Giuncheto, the house on the farm here where we stayed last year, is a year older now and plants that were spindle sticks last year – and looked to stay that way forever in the heat of the summer – have shot up this year already making a screen between us and the country road. The broom is in its bloom and with every breeze effuses its scent in powerful wafts. A row of lavender plants, also new, edge the border near the clothesline and it, too, is about to bloom. A pergola has been built, a welcome  addition that allows us to eat outside with shelter from the sun, and the welcome from Silvia and Vincenzo was filled with so much love and kindness: the bed made with our linens and all our things brought out of storage and placed exactly so.

Their herd of cows has doubled in size, now numbering 40, and after unpacking we strolled over to them for a conversation. I think I feel a bovine essay developing at some point this summer. But for now just let me say that as I write I can hear the soft clang of cowbells and last night we drifted into slumber with the lowing of the mamas, lullabying their babies.

We forayed into the village this morning to stock up on supplies and were not surprised by the warm and happy greetings from all the shop owners whose wares and produce we have been buying for 17 years. We all look a little older and all tell each other we look younger!

Tonight we’ll go up the hill for dinner with Gianni and Luana and begin to switch our brains to the narrow dusty track that holds our grammatically erroneous Italian. But you know, we’ll all say everything we want to say, and we’ll laugh; that wonderful sound that only humans make, the universal sound that needs no words.