Villa La Fagianaia

A honeymoon morning in Tuscany is a symphony of sounds, sights and feelings dancing across one mans senses with no less vibrato than the softest most superbly played Mozart.

A masterpiece of fresco pigments laid down with just a hint of pure virgin olive oil, gently stroked earth tones of softly shadowed greens, speckled with the purest yellow blossoms, red poppies, lavenders and light rose, all covered with the most subtle white and blue mist gently laying across the more distant hills.

The breath of the Villa La Fagianaia, whispers in her slumber sway, warm golden stones hug my love gently as she slumbers softly in this new day.

The light aired sheets caress soft morning skin as the cool fresh air flows as a trickle through the open sill.

Sweet is the flowered scents resting on damp misty cloud, tingling again with just the softest herbs of olive branch and nectar shroud.

Peddles of all possible name, dance in the lightest possible breeze, they bathe in the morning dew drops that caress their waking leaves.

The heads of slender grass glisten like diamonds with condensed droplets of pure life’s love, waiting each in turn to drop softly onto whom or what they may add their own essence from above.

The bell of some distant castled tower chimes a single tone, and her sounds slowly faint into distant responses unknown.

Memories of her solum tone linger long after her furthest pass, giving glimmer in her sweet taste of tiled rooftops of long past.

Birds chirp in some unfathomable yet random unity as they sing their praises of still another perfect days creation, they each speak of the infinite gift God has himself tasked them to preach.

Oh how tempting is it to just sore in the sky above and among the soft misty gardens of shimmering greens, earthly browns and blue tinted shadows. But they must linger, perched on the cool damp crested branch sent to task the song that must yet be sung among the most perfect mornings dance.

Soft silhouette, gentle bell tone, light vibrato melodies of a hundred separate ageless stone,

their voices all distinct yet separate in their blended harmonies, so do all these visions caress my longing senses even as the gentlest morning breeze touch my resting senses and plays to forgotten dreams of yesterday’s memories.

By Peter Colla

“Thank You Lord Jesus for all the greatest gifts You give me each and every day, even as I hardly begin to sense them”