Morning, Montelcino

We all have those travels that hold a special fondness in our memory.
My wife, Bernie, and I spent ten glorious September days in Tuscany,
      staying in one small village after another.
The weather was ideal,
      the people were charming,
            our rooms were storybook interesting,
                  every meal was a delight.
Then there was the countryside.
Just before sunrise I walked from our tiny hotel
      and stood along the stone wall that separated Montelcino
            from the valley below.
It was just the village cats and I.
They made perfect company as I watched the fog lift and stretch,
      leave and return.
I can still hear the faint, muted sounds of the day beginning below me
      on the small farms, the hilly vineyards, the curving roads.
Mostly I can still remember witnessing what E. M. Forster once wrote:
Tuscany comes “steeped in sunlight” in a way you never quite forget.