Tuscany Breathing.

My own photo.

On the outskirts of Volterra

In the heart of the rolling Tuscan hills.

With the windows thrown wide,

we lay still and listen,

We listen to the wonder of Tuscany.

When the Bullfrog’s and Cicadas compete for air time,

Wild Boar and Deer bark and call to their mates.

The firefly’s hop and prance throwing sparkles in their wake,

Specks of luminous green light whizz here and there,

As if being chased by the sunrise.

Silent streaks of Tuscan sun warm the distant hills.

All is still, hot, and quiet.

Except for the sound

of Tuscany breathing.

O

My own photo.

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