This morning I was tired of feeling sorry for myself,
and even though not particularly fit, I decided to put myself to the test and
take a short (very short) walk from my home in Nerano.
I set off with some trepidation. It was the first time
I had ventured forth onto the paths in a month. I walked gently down towards
the village and set off along the well-worn track towards Jeranto.
What immediately struck me was the intense combination
of sounds and smells: the rumble of the waves rolling into the bay of Cantone,
the cries of the seagulls as they wheeled high in the sky, the song of a
blackbird hidden in a bush, the crackling of the undergrowth as the many
lizards that were out today
scuttled for cover, the salty tang of the sea born
on the Scirocco wind, the fruity smell of the carobs trampled
underfoot. Familiar sounds, familiar smells, just more intense than usual.
It was warm, very warm for the last day in November and
even a couple of yellow butterflies fluttered by.
I didn’t go far, just to Sprito, where instead of
proceeding down towards the bay of Jeranto, I veered right onto a narrow track
that I knew would give me a glimpse through the olive groves of the Faraglioni
rocks peeping out from behind Punta Campanella.
Content with this, I turned round and headed back,
satisfied.
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