Driving through the secondary roads of the Tuscan countryside, I let my eyes drink in the beauty of this gem in the heart of Italy because I wanted the scenery to forever be painted on the canvas of my mind.
The rows and rows of vines with straggly bunches of late autumn grapes.
The groves of olive trees, their waxy leaves giving off a silvery sheen in the bright rays of the sun.
The cypress trees standing out like dark sentinels of the peaceful land.
Whitewashed buildings with terracotta tiled-roofs.
Ancient villages hanging precariously to cliff edges.
Walled towns with high bells towers surveying the land, always on the look out for invaders that will come no more.
A feeling of peace pervades the air and in the silence the distant clanging of a church bell echoes across the fields.
And always, on the horizon, the fertile rolling hills …
This is the Tuscany of my dreams. A place that stole my imagination and my heart. A place where time itself seems to have slowed down. If I was an artist I would set up my easel and capture the Tuscan countryside in all its moods, all its seasons. But, as it is, I have to use mere words to convey a beauty that is not just seen but felt in the innermost depths of the soul.
I hope that one day I will return to this enchanting place, buy an old, old house and spend my days filling notebooks with useless poems, while the scent of spring poppies floats in through the open window. Until that day, I will continue to dream …