Reading the landscape

I’m in Sicily this week so all I’m reading is the layered landscape of the wind-blown island, the tissue of patched civilizations, the history of the land that can be read like a tragic palimpsest, full of erasures and additions, corrections and emendations, the decadence of time rushing to its own fulfillment.

Every rock is a piece of parchment, every pine tree a quill tracing intelligibility through the air. There is no right way to read, but it all makes sense. It makes sense because the island is life itself, messy and glorious.

There are very few other places in the world where the past is as stratographically visible as it is in Sicily, where each piece of land reveals its biography like tree growth rings, vulnerable, but inexorably resilient and ultimately undefeated.

Some of the first words ever written were inscribed in stone. But the most enduring ones are written in the landscape, etched on the skin of the earth, the proud scars of continuity & emotion, throbbing with life.

One thought on “Reading the landscape

Add yours

Leave a Reply to ounoginiri Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: