Serendipity All Over the Place

My posts have described the values of travel, and one of my favorite discoveries is that all I need to do to receive some wonderful gifts is keep my eyes open.  Of course, discoveries are everywhere and I don't need to travel to foreign lands in order to make them.  And often, I can enjoy discoveries vicariously, through the eyes of my family and friends.  When I travel, I am more focused in the moment and not preoccupied with bills to pay or errands to run, so, the signals are clearer, not jumbled up against daily living.  Traveling, whether far from home or near, then, becomes a form of meditation.

Earlier I related a wonderful trip that included a visit to Siena, Italy, and the moving ceremony in the square, celebrating the return from Lebanon of Tuscan paratroopers.  Well, from Siena, Greg and I traveled by train to a much smaller Tuscan hill town.  The train deposited us at the station down below in Camucia, a small town about two miles from our destination.  We waited there for a local bus to take us the rest of the way.  At the train station we had met a lovely Michigan couple, John and Pat,  retired educators who joined us for coffee at a shop near the bus stop.   We continued getting acquainted while the bus climbed the hill through the gate and into the old town where it deposited us at a small square.  From there we separated to walk to our hotel, an old monastery (again with the church hotels!).  Because it was early evening, the reception office was closed, but on the door, someone had left a note telling us and another family which rooms we had been assigned.  

As in Siena, the hotel was very old;  although our room was chilly and spartan, it was clean, with twin beds and crucifixes.  We were satisfied with our accommodations once again, especially when we saw the killer view from our arched window.  Our hotel was perched at the edge of the hill and the valley stretched out below us, facing away from the town, and into the countryside.  I've seen paintings with such views!

Our window

View from our hotel window

The next day was actually cold, but it didn't chill our enthusiasm.  We were in Cortona!  Under the Tuscan Sun!  (although, not a very warm one)  While exploring the tight streets and finding so many hidden passageways, steps, tiny shops and cafes, we ran into fellow travelers, John and Pat.  Yes, we were all having quite a lovely day, and yes, we were cold!

Then, wait, what is that sound?  Trumpets were sounding a fanfare, drums were beating . . . no, it couldn't be another parade of Sienese paratroopers!  Were they following us?  Then, the pedestrians in our little street stepped back and revealed young people in costume blowing long-necked horns;  we saw drummers, flag-bearers, dignitaries in costume.





Something really cool was happening!  Next, burly men appeared, carrying old heavy crossbows (ballesteros) on their shoulder.  The parade gathered in a square, this one named Piazza Signorelli - once again, dignitaries at chairs, flag bearers, musicians, all gathered, and the ensuing crossbow competition began.  Just as I felt with the Sienese celebration, I was so grateful that the town had provided me (ME!) this wonderful entertainment.  How did they know that I'd just arrived?

The targets are in the background -hope nobody comes out of the door!

After we watched the contest for some time, I needed to get warm, so I left Greg, who was too enthralled with it all, and stepped into a little bar-cafe that faced the square.   Just inside, hanging on the wall to the immediate right-hand side of the door was a small poster of Uga, the George bulldog.  Found out the bartender's son is studying engineering there.  Small world.  Go Dogs.

A Writer's Prayer

(Here's something I've been working on;  I hope that you like it!)



Spirit within, embrace all that I am.
Direct my thoughts, speak to me in this space
that I may have the words to enter the heart,
delight, inspire, or open the world,
and feel the grace.

Hear me, oh my soul.
Let the drums beat the heartsong for me to say.
Give me wings to fly above the clouds to look,
where I may gaze back, in night or light of day,
down to the rolling sea, swelling and pulsing,
and to the slow-flowing river and the singing brook.

Find my way upstream to the bank where the wise one sits
watching his thoughts skim in and out.
Or I'll slide down sunbeams, point my pony for the sunset,
then turn my attention about.

With the eagle, I'll swoop and soar,
feel the sunlight on my face, the breath of life in my hair,
and then sky-dance in the moonlight.
I'll back-kick through thunder, twist and roll in your wind.
Then return again to where the mighty oaks bend.

Let me bask in no limits, no fear of the storm.
If you'll let me stretch back,
find the sunlight once more.
That I may breathe in sweet pine, languid fields of soft grass,
and watch bees buzzing as I secretly pass.

Make me an earth explorer:
I'll shrink to a child's secret fairy
to wriggle into the warm soil, find seeds with promise,
and hidden gems I'll carry.
I'll wink and swirl among creatures at play
in lucent white sand or claret red clay.

I'll travel where few have thought to go,
and calling forth songs of my heart,
up to the tops of mountains to start
to join my voice with heaven that sings.
If you'd give me fins, feathers, or wings,
to birth in this life more magical things.