Day seven and the rain hasn’t stopped since day five. Sardegna is beautiful and lush. So I guess we need all the rain to make the various shades of green spring to life. Tippa and her mom are grazing at the bottom of the mountain and the goat which has his left and right hooves, front to back tied together… is slowly hobbling along beside them. Shatzy and Floppy are with heads down trying to find their morning hay in the cool dampness. The mountain tops are dusted with heavy cloud cover and the rain relentless. I sit staring at my morning flashing cursor trying to find the words to describe what is before me, though I’m having difficulty as there is no heat in our house, my runners on and pashmina tied around my neck and my brain frozen slowly in Italian time. Sometimes the hot water works for showers but with no door on the bathroom I have left my privacy at the airport.
The farmer from one mountain over herds his cows down the winding mountain roads toward their new milking grounds. Once in a while a cow drifts slowly to the other side of the road and the farmer is left to yield the sporadic traffic and beckon his daily bread back to the herd. I have stopped wearing my beautiful silver Breil watch as I now live in a space where time does not exist and everything, I mean everything comes domani. I am lost in a language where the translation is beautiful but my mother tongue can not compare to the words expressed by my loved one. There are certain words and expressions which I understand but in the grand scheme of this world I find myself making my own dialogue between those around me. I feel as though I’m stuck in an Italian cartoon and the sub titles are lost and forgotten.