Here’s an autobiographical story that Carol sent to me two days ago.
There’s a place on the north coast, up high on the forest clad cliffs above the aqueous blue – your beloved Mediterranean. Its early morning in autumn, and I know I will find you there. It’s my gateway to memories.
As I leave the valley floor,and climb the twisting road, I’m watched by thousands of tortured olive trees wearing their leaves of grey and silver. The only bright color is falling from the roadside elms, in tones of orange and yellow skittering on the tarmac. Continue reading “There’s a Place”