Home On The Hill

It grew
As though it were wild
Though intentionally planted
All around her house.

A soft
Tuscan afternoon breeze
Whispered through the bush
Hues of soft sage and mauve
Dancing eagerly before sunset.

I only visited her
Twice.
Once with a partner in crime
Another time
That partner of mine.
But the adventures were the same:
Antipasto and
Aperol spritz
After a humid and rain-sodden day.
Feigned interest in architecture
And Reigned-in interest in the
Architecture of human bodies
Strutting along those
Italian streets.

Whatever the weather
Whatever the pleasure
We'd arrive home late afternoon
Or late at night
The crickets chirping
And the lavender delicately dancing
Around the outskirts of that
Home on the hill.

And though my taste or desire
For cured meats and alcoholic treats
Has disappeared
Fond memories not of the food or drinks
But the company we kept
Remain.
And though Anne no longer lives
Hurried in this life
By an illness I am yet to comprehend
Each time I see lavender
Growing "wild" as only lavender can
I'll remember her lovingkindness
Unhindered
Untamed
Unadulterated
Wild in that Tuscan town
That I see as just another
Home.