Situated in an unprepossessing village that had somehow managed to escape the notice of the multitudes of tourists that annually flock to Tuscany, the house was basic, clean and comfortable.
The long lazy days provided us with an opportunity to immerse ourselves in a way of life which was totally different from that of Guernsey.
We were the only English speakers in the area but were made to feel welcome and soon slipped into the languid rhythm of life in a hot southern climate.
At night the garden was lit by fireflies and an open door would attract moths. One such moth is the subject of this poem.
LA FALENA
A moth came in at the screen door
attracted by light as moths are.
It flickered like a small dark fan,
here and there: I could not ignore
its plight and trapped it in a jar,
released it outside. Foolish man:
moths will return, against the odds,
seeking out light as we do gods.
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