Salute

There's something in the air reminding me of Italy. Maybe it's my hot-sticky sweat. Or the laundry detergent with just a hint of sea salt. Maybe the coffee beans left over from morning. It's intoxicating. All it takes is one note and I'm there in my mind. Maybe it's my pace. Maybe it's not needing answers and being ready at any time to pour a short glass of red. Maybe it's the loaf of bread half-torn. Maybe it's the way the sunlight hits the basil outside or the hummingbirds that keep swinging past my window. I opt for the matches to light the candle sitting next to the milk glass candy jar. It makes the room just one tick warmer and I relish it. I can feel sweat on my upper lip, the back of my pajamas, and the top of my bald head. I think I'll tear off lettuce for lunch today and mix it with olive oil, white wine vinegar, salt, and pepper. It reminds me so perfectly of my grandmother. It needs nothing more. Or maybe just a splash of lemon. Maybe I won't even wait until lunch. It reminds me of stories told of my great grandmother's backyard city garden. It's 4 in the afternoon in San Vito now. People must be going back to work. Maybe I'll do the same. And maybe tonight will be red. Cheers.