all sorts of drama here in the hamlet, between my contadini neighbours, following arguments over my olive groves -- a knife was pulled and the carabinieri were called twice. Separately, my Italian hotelier neighbour punched the teenage son of a Swiss woman who is also a local resident -- so war has broken out here in Fallujah-in-Umbria. I may have to seek political asylum in the South Bronx.
Here's a paean to pace in Toscana come this May:
To the Cuckoo
John Logan (1748-1788)
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year.
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