Tuscany Done and Dusted.

 And all at once I saw Tuscany;

I saw her in the heat rolling off the mountains

And in the shimmer of the blue sea.

I walked her roads and her ways.

Smothered myself in her fine dust;

White infused with a tinge of sculptor’s blood.

Hands blistered by chisel and hammer

Staining forever the living rock.

 

I strolled through piazzas paved with history

And swarming with humanity.

Streets divine in their perfection

Leading to wonder after wonder;

Churches adorned with a purgatory term of artists labour.

The simplest structures built to the glory of marble

Here a fountain, there a shrine;

Priceless wonders scarred and marked by life and passing traffic.

And everywhere the white stone, bleeding blood and rust

And the dust; white and glowing tinge of pink.

Graffiti on walls built to contain the spirit of a place

Beyond the containment of walls.

And over it all the scarred and fractured hills;

Attacked and plundered for their core

A workable malleable stone.

The glory of Carrara.

 

Only here in the heat of mountain and ocean

Could a landscape of scars and gashes riven deep

Look all at once both grotesque and grand.

Drawing us up into the desert of rock and dust.

We drove through the modern town

And then transported on the fluff

Of the worn guidebook

We climb into a world of tunnel and mine

Aqueduct and viaduct

Tunnel and bridge.

The engineering of a rugged terrain

A world beyond the power of imagination

Tamed by steel and copper,

Dynamite and hydraulics.

We drive through the living heart of the mountain,

We are leaving it all behind

Bound for our next adventure

And then it was gone.

With regret.

Tuscany done and dusted.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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