Shall I compare thee to a summer' s day? Perhaps better not, as up here 1000 metres above sealevel in the Italian alps, there has been no summer to speak of this year. We have had rain, cloud, storms, showers and further rain. Gigliola asked the other day if I thought that the gathering of swallows around the church tower meant anything. We looked at each other darkly and nodded. Yes, definitely, they have packed their little rucksacks and are off to Africa any moment, only pausing to snack on the flying ants which have just hatched at the foot of the tower. Also the flock of sheep which were shepherded up to the high pastures early in June have just tinkle-tonkled back down to the field across the valley, a week or so before they did last year.
How rustic it is here, how veritably rural. Hard to understand why anyone can bear to go and live down in hot, sticky deafening Milan, an hour' s drive away, when they could be up here in perfect silence, only disturbed by thunder, pouring rain and tinkle-tonkling. Then you consider that one good reason is that there is zero employment up here, not even for shepherds. Signora Teresa was the last person to keep cows in this hamlet, now they are kept down on the Po plain around Cremona and only brought up here for the summer months, usually in gigantic double-length cow transporter lorries, which honk masterfully as they roar up the steep, narrow lanes. If you hear one coming up the road, run off onto the verge, if any, or pray hard. Lack of verge is explained by the fact that the roads hang onto the mountain side, with a plunge of many metres over the side. This is why small cars are so popular.
In fact, the sheep were actually walked up here all the way from Cremona, accompanied by a couple of donkeys and a horse or two. And by the shepherds, of course, and their dogs. I couldn' t spot the donkeys and horses today when the sheep returned, and wonder if they have been eaten. No, don' t look like that: stewed donkey is a popular local dish, yes, I know, poor little dumb creatures, but we have to feed on something, don' t we? The dogs were busy doing their Bitsa thing, lining the sheep up in all sorts of formations. Viewed from across the valley, they seemed to be doing geometrical shapes. Circle now, Bitsas barked. Square, now triangle. Then they progressed on to letters of the alphabet, there was a C, and a J. They baulked at W, however. Possibly because it is infrequent in Italian words... We think that by next year they will be on to reading. It reminded you of training for synchronized swimming, honestly, have you ever seen anything so silly. The hours those poor girls waste learning those routines. And the awful fixed grins of joy they have to wear while doing them, even under the water. Apart from the fact that I was always too lazy to learn to swim, the obligatory smile would put me off.At least the sheep don' t have to smile.
Nuff said for today, experimental first time sally forth from the mountain fastnesses onto your very own computer screen. Age shall not wither me, or it probably is doing, but I still enjoy jotting. No, I certainly did not say jogging. Except what I have to have done to my memory most of the day. I rest my case.
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