Beaver swimming in the Tarn,
French men partaking of a yarn.
A distant Donkey has a bray
As we begin a brand new day.
Smell the coffee taste the bread,
See the Heron overhead.
Laundry drying on a line
The forest scents the air with pine.
Blossoming flora amongst the trees
Being pollinated by busy bees.
Every second of every day beauty is abound,
If only we stop to look around.
On the outskirts of Volterra
In the heart of the rolling Tuscan hills.
With the windows thrown wide … we lay still and listen,
We listened 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,
Rays of luminous green light whizzing here and there,
As if being chased by the sunrise.
Silent streaks of Tuscan sun warm the distant hills.
It’s still, hot and quiet.
Except for the sound of Tuscany breathing.