italy

I’m writing from Pergolaccio, a 300-year-old stone farmhouse near the Umbrian hill town of Todi. Here in the center of Italy, it’s unusually verdant after a cold, wet spring. Today, though, the sun is out: warming the breeze, drying the dew, backlighting the rose petals on the arbor, dissolving the blanket of mist that fills the valley below. To the south, ruined castles and occasional villas perch on ridges, beige limestone blocks with red tile roofs, simple windows cut deeply into thick plaster walls.