I am entralled by autumn, captivated by colour.
The landscape has taken on intense, moody hues of maroon, scarlet, yellow ochre and dusty blue. To complete the effect, the hills are topped with a perfect layer of royal icing, glowing crisply against the blue, blue sky.
The slanting sun slits through the ruined walls of the Grancia of San Biagio - a one-time monastic farm. Its roofless walls gently crumble down through the brambles in the pituresque decay of ancient ruins. I dream of what it was and what it could be in the future. Autumn walks down country lanes must be one of the great pleasures of life.
Returning to the village, the smell of wood smoke drifts through the cool air. It reminds me of thick, slow tomato sauces prepared slowly on the stufa - the cooking stove. Anything cooked on a stove seems to take on a different flavour - perhaps we could define it as patience.
Bonfire in Bugnara
I am deeply, hopelessly glad to be here. Despite the horrors of yesterday in Rome, despite money, despite politics.