Blue Haze-of-Distance

Before one of the greatest of Nature’s spectacles, that my young eyes have seen, I sit, on a hillock's soft tuft of grass in an olive grove, overlooking the valley that is being soothingly put to sleep by the freshly caressing spring-evening-air. The chipper songbirds chatter and the red Sun is setting behind the Apennines submerged in blue haze of distance in the West.

The valley is, by mountains, circumscribed and from beneath me to the next towering ridge, a tapestry unfurls: fields streaked in different greens are in each other wedgéd, their perimeters, stitches of overlapping Earth, accénted by rows of pines, cypresses (as green as ever) and oaks (still brown and bare). Houses are scattered about, voices converse, portraying an endearing symbiosis between man and Mother Nature.

All around, the Apennines' ring radiate pink, purple, orange and yellow homogeneously intermingling hues that overflow into the, towards the Zenith, still blue, cloudless, spick and span sky.

The sun is gone, the hues remain, although darkening and fading ever so smoothly.

On a tuft of grass I sit, taking in all this overwhelming beauty and serenity, and yet all I can think is: oh were she here! Were she here beside me for me to rest my head on her shoulder, hear her heartbeat and breath, rejoice in the most melodious of melodies (my angel’s voice). Oh if only she were here to heal my broken heart, cracked by loneliness and absence of hers. If only she were here to fill the yearning, empty space in my soul.