Writing down my bones …
Quote of the day:
Continue under all circumstances; Don't be tossed away; Positive effort for the good. Natalie Goldberg, Villa Lina. October 2, 2012
One of my first writing exercises on October 2. The prompt from Natalie:
"Where have you come from?" 10 minutes – go:
I arrived at Villa Lina in a large red bus. It rambled slowly out of Rome along a highway, and as it rocked and rolled its way along the pavement, I stared out of the windows. My body ached with fatigue. The plane ride had been uneventful but sleep was fitful of thoughts and feelings about Ada. How I held her soft, sweet body in my arms, and how she laid her little head on my wrist, finally receiving some peace from the pain in her pancreas, the fear in her eyes from the stark, sterile, cold, linoleum floor of the emergency unit in the hospital. I slept for a few moments as the bus rumbled along, and felt relief from my pain at the loss of my darling companion only two mornings earlier. As I opened my eyes I realized the bus was driving through what looked like a narrow lane. "It is Italy," I thought to myself. "I am in Italy." I could tell by the olive trees in the distance, the pink blossoms of the oleander bushes, and tall Cyprus trees. "Are those Cyprus trees?" I almost wondered out loud. Ada slipped from my mind as the bus continued along the way. It felt like Israel – the narrow road and large, rambling bus – oleander blooming everywhere my eyes wandered. "I could be in Israel," I thought. And then we reached the small town of Ronciglioni, and I knew it was Italy, from the small, winding streets and signs in Italian. Of course I wasn't in Israel! The wall and gates of Villa Lina suddenly appeared right there in front of us right out of the blue of my ruminations. I listened. My aching heart had stopped weeping. The tall iron, grated gate greeted my anticipation, and I smiled to myself because no sooner had it opened, so it shut again. And then, it opened once more. We walked out of the bus and I could smell the air. It was warm, with a slight breeze in the trees fanning my face with humidity as I walked up the rocky path towards the barn and restaurant for lunch at Villa Lina. It felt like Israel again.
Seven years ago at Tamarika: The old me