Summary
In early March, there is an almost audible stirring that can be felt in the air, coming from deep within the hearts of all who've been held captive by winter's icy grip for what seems quite long enough. That restless, persistent rustle is a subterranean chorus of spring bulbs warming up for their seasonal performance. It's the fidgeting of fuzzy buds on pear branches, eager to begin their annual transformation into blossoms, then fruit. And it's spirits like mine eager to witness the magic of emerging gardens.
Though cold winds persist, the hours of daylight are becoming longer. Anticipating spring, I fill quiet hours by returning to Italy in the pages of a journal kept during my first trip there in May 1987. Looking out at early morning light from the window of a Pan Am Clipper, I see the first signs of Europe begin to appear. The snowy Alps stand out below, and then the hilly contours of Corsica, outlined in the blue-greens of the Mediterranean, come into dramatic view.See the full content of this document
Extract
Senses Stir at Spring's First Signs
Noting the size and rural nature of the small Mediterranean island, I recalled that Napoleon spent his childhood as an Italian- speaking Corsican, no doubt sensi...
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