An Almond Blossom Life
Tree limb bending in the morning, Winter grasses stiff and waiting, cold, ice-flow afternoon. Or maybe it’s a new day dawning as they do, sucking chi up into the core of the bones. I was a cut out, filled with stuffing, a matched up crazy quilted scarecrow living a see-through life. So, I grab a 10 pound pack and a forty dollar bike and head off towards the Adriatic. Hills of scrunched-up fruit trees in pink and white, so happy you can taste the almond blossoms. Stradas Provinciales tunneled with poplars. There's a cotton-candy Ferris Wheel the first night out, a calliope singing Verdi in the popcorn wings. And it wasn’t that long ago either.