Snaking grey highways disappearing into the rising sun.
That was my view from the windscreen. Old olive trees dripping with ripe fruit. Neon green netting on the ground just waiting for someone to come and shake the tree. Harvest time.
Hundreds of miles of citrus orchids. Heavy with bright orange balls. Sweet juicy nectarines, oranges and pompelmo (the lovely Italian word for grapefruit).
Crumbling ruins, cracked walls, slipping lichen covered roof tiles. I would love to restore a house like that. There are so much history and stories between those walls. I will learn to lay stone and tile and paint murals.
I will invite you all to come a spent a year in Tuscany. To bring a shovel and ideas. To come and work with your hands. Sweaty hard labour. I’ll want our friends Pamela and Hugh there. Because he is a wizard. A master builder and intuitive designer of buildings. Pamela will cook delicious food and every afternoon we will eat at a long wooden table in the shade of oak trees. Chatter will fill the still fragrant air. And afterwards we will stretch out in the shade for siesta.
A daydream as I stare at the flashing road signs pointing north, of building a home in Tuscany.