Tuesday 19 January 2010

Locksmiths of Ventimiglia

I stop at the middle of a bridge above the Roia river in Ventimiglia.

Below me the lucid swirls of the river draw curious ripples against the pillars of the bridge.

I contemplate the lovers who stood here years ago, throwing keys into the same clear turqouise current.

Before me are rusty locks with the names of those unknown couples - some locks have hearts drawn on them, others with carved statements of passion.

I do not know and will never meet them, yet I am secretly happy for them; it is not every day that one declares an unbreakble bond to another, throws away the keys and never looks back.

Beneath the rusty locks are a new and shining locks.

I smile, for it tells me that the heart's traditions are still carried forth by the locksmiths of Ventimiglia.

Tuesday 5 January 2010

The Sheep In The Window

Do you have any idea how relaxing it is to see sheep in the window? Little white cotton balls against the lush and cool green of the grass. And it's all a gentle blur as the hills oscillate, passing you by as if they were waves and you were on an ocean liner. But no, rather, you are the one that is passing the hills by. On a train sliding away from the city, literally leaving your thoughts, stresses and business behind. The destination is irrelevant, rather, it is the getting there.

The smooth voice of the wind and the sound of the rails beneath you orchestrate the soft lullaby of travel. Rest your head in the soft seats and let the steady sway of the carriage cradle you as if you were once again a small child in a swinging crib. Again, slowly draw your eyes to the hills. How many sheep are in the window?

Count them,
fall asleep,
and pursue those dreams beyond the grassy hills.