I listened to a conversation Krista Tippett had with Ellen Davis today that was recorded in 2010. The phrase that stood out was Ms. Davis saying “…and that slows us down, and in our times, anything to slow us down must be viewed as a good thing.” The quote is a little loose because I don’t want to listen to the whole episode again right away, but it is in essence correct.
Were she speaking today, she may have changed a word so as not to imply that the virus is a good thing, but it spoke volumes to me about the lockdown.
I sit in the middle of my circus minimus on a fresh spring evening while typing this. Somewhere there is the persistent pounding of a hammer, this in a town where little besides furniture and doors is made of wood. Any piece of stone hammered like that would be dust by now. This is not the first day I’ve heard this, and I don’t remember when the first day was, but it sparks my curiosity rather furiously. The hammerer just dropped what from this distance sounded like a wood plank. The mystery grows. Now the hammer strokes are short and leaden. Now a little desperate, and as if the hammerer were pounding away at the plank – no nails.
Renzo stepped into the yard on a soup delivery yesterday, or perhaps the day before. He looked at my weedy garden and gave it a thumbs up. I had a quip in English jump to the front of my tongue, but nothing in Italian. Then he touched a particularly hearty weed and suggested it would best be eliminated. I saw then his kindness in wanting to point out the worst of the weeds without insulting my gardener’s skills.
“I just am not up to it, these days. I want to weed, but I can’t.”
“You’re not feeling well?”
“The lack of real walking is taking its toll.”
And we discussed a few options that might solve that.
Today, at times I felt like I could weed, and considered giving the beds a good soak so that weeding later in the day or tomorrow would be more efficacious, but checked the forecast first. Rain Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, then warm weather. Perfect. I’ll wait until Wednesday. Maybe by then I’ll have conquered a few inscrutables and will feel up to the job.
The hammering ceased, a long silence while I discoursed on weeds, then a flurry of pounding something harder than before, another rest and two staccato notes to finish. No pictures jump to mind.
The swifts have returned. I heard reports from the medieval quarter that they were darting through the skies, but just now sighted some for myself. Only a few swoop and glide within my sight; the avant guard I suppose. Just as I wrote that, as if to prove me wrong, dozens of them flew directly overhead. I love watching them, their joyous arcs and dives. They are also cleaners of the air. Any creature that eats mosquitoes is my friend.
Five bangs of the hammer, the last one of a different tone from the rest.
All the blossoms have fallen off the apricot. Now there are only tender leaves. That transformation seemed sudden. I know for a fact that day before yesterday there were still blossoms here and there because Renzo pointed them out, visions of apricots dancing before his eyes. Even with weeds, the garden looks happier with the tree starting to provide shade. And the clematis is showing buds. They will open into lush lavender colored flowers, clumps of them, cascades.
Suddenly, the delegation of swifts is back and in force.
The hammer started pounding again and has paused. I imagine someone stepping back from their work, satisfaction rising into their heart for a job well done.
Dusk is here. I sit wrapped in my cardigan sweater, deep blue, cozy, having walked in circles for hours (me, not the sweater), talked to a friend on the phone, read, and listened to Mancinelli, all the while entertaining thoughts of zucchini stew over brown rice. I’m wishing I had soy sauce. When I asked Gabriele where to find soy sauce last November, he laughed. Two weeks later it appeared on their shelves. I bought one of the tiny bottles and used it up so quickly I forgot to get another.
Tomorrow is Saturday. Shopping day. What fun that will be! People, voices, texture under foot.
The sun sets, the light changes. I remember what a sunset looks like from the cliff. I also have photos. Even if it lacks drama, a sunset is also lovely from my yard.