It is the weekend the querce (oaks) are turning. They hold their leaves longer than other trees and so their autumn is more visible. The road has been a carpet of ghiande (acorns) for a while. I met a woman the other day, brightly clad in a turquoise and pink floral apron, gleefully gathering them into a bucket. For my maiale (pigs) she smiled. I imagine for pigs they are a treat. I am overjoyed when an acorn takes root, finding a tough little oak tree with two tiny leaves. But whatever the season it is the timeless certainty of our oaks that quietly astounds me every day as I pass them by. Sergio is right. These old ones are protected. We must nurture the new ones.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
ghianda
It is the weekend the querce (oaks) are turning. They hold their leaves longer than other trees and so their autumn is more visible. The road has been a carpet of ghiande (acorns) for a while. I met a woman the other day, brightly clad in a turquoise and pink floral apron, gleefully gathering them into a bucket. For my maiale (pigs) she smiled. I imagine for pigs they are a treat. I am overjoyed when an acorn takes root, finding a tough little oak tree with two tiny leaves. But whatever the season it is the timeless certainty of our oaks that quietly astounds me every day as I pass them by. Sergio is right. These old ones are protected. We must nurture the new ones.
