I Met An Old Man

There's a man who's out every morning with his dog.
(The dog, I later learned, goes by Cici)
One day he stopped me. - I'll bring you a book, he said.
True to his word, the next day he handed me a slim volume of Italian verse called Volo Libero.

The bio on the back describes the author as a man born in Arezzo in 1935, who moved back in his later years to focus on writing.

I suspect,
That I met the author.

(I am supposed to meet him again today at 6pm, so that he can give me another book.)



Zoe came up on Friday. She made it through the train strike (which, apparently is common here), and we walked through the rising storm into town, where we purchased some ridiculous sum in groceries at Eurospar.
It's what we do.


Mostly we relaxed, since I always have the best beds. We also took a long walk through the countryside and discussed the books we're going to write. My projects include A History of Tears, and a Dictionary of words to disambiguate "Love".
I'll let you know when they're ready for publication.

Until then -
Have a pear.
(God they're good)