This Other Life
Although
My feet have
not touched this soil,
My heart has
been here often.
Perhaps in a
past lifetime,
Or one yet
to be.
I have come
to know this place,
Learned to
call it home.
I can see
myself
Drinking
coffee in the morning sun,
Glasses of
wine in the late afternoon,
Listening to
the hum of bees
In fields of
lavender.
From a villa
on the hillside
I can smell
the sweet grapes
Ripening in
the vineyard below,
Mixed with
the blooms of
Cabbage
roses.
At night I
lie beneath olive trees
With
brown-skinned lovers,
Under chiaro
di luna,
Our laughter
floating on the breeze.
On warm
summer days
I sit on the
balcony,
Pen in hand,
And write
the stories
Living
inside of me.
Memories
that lie
Just beneath
the surface.
Sometimes in
my dreams
I go there
again,
Catching
glimpses of
This other
life,
Where I
flourish and grow
In the hills
of Tuscany.
Rishell
Graves
April 1,
2012
