I have read about the winters in Umbria; the relentless wind, the grayness that starts with morning fog and lingers until dusk. Days without sun that produces a cold that seeps into the stones of the medieval towns and does not leave until the summer heat shines a bit of warmth into their dank depths. Although it hasn't been that cold this winter, it has been gray, windy and damp. Only the pigeons who waddle across the tile roof of the church across the piazza seem unaffected by the dour weather. For the rest of us, it is has been "duro" hard.
Then unexpectedly, spring sashays in like the village flirt, and I am unsure if she will stay or is only teasing me. Today, it seems as if spring might really become more than my part time lover. When the fruit trees blossom, the Italian farmers become active with hoes in hand, tractors, saws, it is a menagerie of activity. They seem to think the season has changed.
Spring also brings in new food, different festivals and joyous treats. Really too beautiful to eat, but oh so lovely to contemplate.
I think maybe spring will stay a while this time.