The Mirror of the Sky: The Italian Lakes

I left the cliffs of Normandy with their salt wind and endless sea and turned my steps toward the south where the air grew warmer and the hills gentler where the promise of water shining beneath the sun drew me onward I crossed the lands of France where vineyards rolled like green waves upon the hills where orchards heavy with fruit scented the air with sweetness where small villages lay huddled beneath the shadow of ancient towers and cathedrals Their bells rang in the quiet mornings their streets narrow and cobbled echoed with the soft steps of children and the quiet words of those who rose early to greet the day

The road led me across the border where the Alps rose white and immense their peaks lost in cloud where rivers born of ice and stone raced down through valleys rich with pine and meadow I walked paths where shepherds tended flocks where wildflowers painted the slopes in hues of gold and blue and crimson where the air tasted of snow and sky and the world felt wide and clean Each night I lay beneath the stars the sky so clear and deep that I felt I could fall upward into its endlessness The mountains sang in their own tongue the creak of glaciers the whisper of wind through pine the distant rumble of stone loosened by the thaw

At last I came down from the high places into the lands of water the lakes of the north of Italy that lay like great mirrors set among the hills and low mountains The first I saw was Lake Maggiore its waters dark and still at dawn when the mist rose like smoke from its surface and the sky blushed pale with the coming day I stood upon its shore and watched the light grow watched the hills take shape watched the small boats rock upon the gentle waves The air smelled of water and blossom of stone warmed by sun of grass still wet with dew

I walked along the lakeshore for days my steps slow my eyes wide with wonder I came upon gardens where cypress and olive stood tall against the sky where roses climbed old stone walls where fountains sang softly in hidden courtyards I saw villas whose windows caught the sun like fire whose balconies overflowed with geranium and vine whose gates stood open to the breeze that came from across the water I watched the lake change with the hour silver in the morning gold at noon deep blue at dusk and black as the wing of night when the moon rose and cast its cold fire upon the ripples

The people of the lakes welcomed me with simple grace they offered me bread thick with olive oil wine dark and sweet cheese that smelled of herbs and earth I shared their tables beneath arbors heavy with grape beneath trees that whispered in the warm wind They spoke of the water of the storms that came down from the mountains with wind and rain of the fish that filled their nets of the festivals that lit the night with music and laughter and flame

I journeyed from Lake Maggiore to Lake Como where the mountains leaned close to the water where villages clung to the slopes their houses painted in soft colors that glowed in the sun I followed narrow paths that wound between garden and stone that rose and fell with the land that led me to quiet places where I could sit and watch the play of light upon the water where I could listen to the voice of the wind in the olive trees the murmur of small streams that fell from the heights to join the lake

One day I climbed to a high place above the lake where the world opened wide before me I saw the lake spread below like a sheet of beaten silver the hills soft and green the sky endless and blue The air was filled with the scent of thyme and wild rosemary with the hum of bees among the blossoms I sat there until the sun fell low and the shadows grew long watching the boats return to harbor the smoke of evening fires rise in soft columns the stars prick the darkening sky

Storms came swift and sudden to the lakes driven by winds from the north The water darkened the waves rose the sky split with lightning and the rain fell hard upon the earth I took shelter where I could beneath the eaves of a chapel upon a rocky ledge beneath a great chestnut tree I watched the fury of the storm felt the power of the wind tasted the rain upon my lips When at last the storm passed the world was washed clean the air fresh and sharp the lake calm once more beneath the returning stars

I stayed by the lakes for many weeks wandering from village to village from shore to hilltop from garden to field Each place had its own voice its own color its own gift to give I learned the names of the winds the ways of the water the songs of the land I listened and watched and breathed it all in so that now as I write these words at Lake Siljan I can close my eyes and see again the silver lakes the soft hills the warm light of the Italian sun I can hear the laughter by the water the bells that rang in the quiet morning the whisper of the breeze in the olive groves I can taste the wine the bread the sweet fruit of those kind and generous lands

And I am grateful