Sometimes I will glimpse a picture or read a few words that will literally make my heart ache for Italy. My second home, because home is where the heart is. I do not long with the same intensity for the shores of the Northwest, where the waves gently lap at the gravely beach.Right now, my soul hurts with a desperation fueled by the dappled shade cast by olive trees and the chill of icey cold limoncello. Gazing across a blinding noontime Mediterranean coatline, questa paese ha il mio cuore.
1 comment:
Hello.
I first came across your blog when I tried to start my own blog about life as an "americana" in Tuscany and learned the user name I wanted was already taken!
Now I'm back in the states and I cannot empathize more with this post. It's crazy that the smallest things can take me back -- the smell of garlic roasting, the taste of olive oil, a forgotten note or photograph tucked inside a book. And then that feeling like my ribcage is collapsing in on my heart. I'd never felt the pangs of homesickness until I left Italy. Good to know I'm not alone.
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