the other day...
observing the gatherings of older men... sitting on benches, well presented in bright blue and pressed shirts watching over the slow ways of their town... keeping a watchful eye on movements and happenings. No telling what they are saying as I walk past. Many today are sitting by one of the Palazzos observing the younger men take down staging from a performance from the night before. From the posters I see it must have been a puppet show.
I am watching the old men's watchful expressions of amusement on their faces. This is how they are passing the time, enjoying the manoeuvres of men working, sweating in this heat. The chuckles and comments, a mummer among them on how the jobs and tasks are best handled. A judgement that clearly comes more from mentoring eyes, than a critical one, and not too far away are resting, gentle dogs of the village, echoing a similar watchful eye over all.
For me this kind of witness spells a deep connection - Mediterranean style. And it's a memory of mine. More ways of 'connection' is seeing the practice of placing chairs outside the entrance of most homes in a circular fashion. Their daily bread, a living room for contact and exchange among each other. Vital. Though, not between the hours of 1pm and 5pm. These household chairs always form a circle and are left out into the evening. And Sundays are the biggest of gatherings. The widest of circles.
just noting:
Dianne Hales writes: 'is also revealing Italian has no words to be exact, which translates to "lonely" "privacy" unthinkable in an Italian family, "spelling" (as they usually look at the words as they sound - Italians anyway), or "dating" (even if it starts before puberty).
observing the gatherings of older men... sitting on benches, well presented in bright blue and pressed shirts watching over the slow ways of their town... keeping a watchful eye on movements and happenings. No telling what they are saying as I walk past. Many today are sitting by one of the Palazzos observing the younger men take down staging from a performance from the night before. From the posters I see it must have been a puppet show.
I am watching the old men's watchful expressions of amusement on their faces. This is how they are passing the time, enjoying the manoeuvres of men working, sweating in this heat. The chuckles and comments, a mummer among them on how the jobs and tasks are best handled. A judgement that clearly comes more from mentoring eyes, than a critical one, and not too far away are resting, gentle dogs of the village, echoing a similar watchful eye over all.
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Ralph or Rafe a name I've given him. I notice him not so much for his looks, but for his wisdom, it's in his eyes, and is well fed. |
just noting:
Dianne Hales writes: 'is also revealing Italian has no words to be exact, which translates to "lonely" "privacy" unthinkable in an Italian family, "spelling" (as they usually look at the words as they sound - Italians anyway), or "dating" (even if it starts before puberty).
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| wild flowers along the way |
Giving myself more time to observe and be with: colour, texture, sound, and the temperaments of Martignano. Enjoying the subtleties of my new - temporary home. It comes in slow waves of appreciation. I am observing this is how I work .... to begin.
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