The Giving Tree

I am reminded, in this coastal paradise, of the children's book.

The place built into the side of an Italian shoe is pure.

They are forever waiting for the sun to rise so the tourist will come.

All through the cold rainy months of October through May.

And then the sun comes out and warms the water, dries the olives and lights up the lemons until they are as big as grapefruits.

Soon the boats come out, sidewalks fill, the hotels open and the people follow.

The olives grow until they are picked and then smashed for their blood.

And then they wait for the earth to give again.  The sun, the wind, the rain, the ocean, the limestone, the lemons, the olives, all for pleasure.

Camelot on the Italian Coast

Positano:  A Place

The Amalfi Coast is not a place that does anything.  It exists solely for people to enjoy.

To eat the bread, with the olive oil and a little salt and not gain weight.

The smell of the lemon trees that never dull.

To eat the pasta, big heaping plates al dente with a pile of grilled fish and not get fat.  Or even full.

To do nothing and not feel guilty.

To sleep late and know you are missing nothing.

The boats sway as if on a timer.  

The birds and insects sing together, an orchestra conducted by nature.

The only thing that takes away are the unfortunate bathing suit choices of the men.