03 March 2009

Under a Mediterranean Sun

Italian Villa hand-painted, hand-spun, merino top

Today I'm imagining a warmer climate. I'm imagining the Mediterranean coast. It may be winter here in Minnesota, but in Italy it's nothing but warm sun, cypress groves, red rooftops, and the turquoise sea. I was in Italy once. My brother and sister and I took the night train from Barcelona to Rome. All along the coast we wove in the night. We missed many of the picturesque sights that tiptop tourists see: the olive groves, the stone cliffs, the high-flying clouds over cities whose roots are medieval--not to mention their root cellars. Instead we had to deal with a freezing sleeping compartment (sorry guys) a few wandering Italian drunks (they're all softies) and our own travel-worn bodies.

Red Roof, hand-painted, hand-spun, merino top

I look back at the pictures we took. My sister and I in our backpacks, our six foot tall and then some brother looming behind us, and behind him the Alps, an old cathedral, or a rocky coast.

Cathedral Glass, hand-painted, hand-spun, merino top

What I remember most are not words or menus, but colors. The slant of light through cathedral glass and how it illuminated the landscape. How it stung our eyes as we struggled with our bags and staggered off the train after our night ride along the Italian coast. I'm going to knit a pair of socks out of this hand-spun to help me remember all of the places my feet have traveled.

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