Smile with the rising sun

Rise up this morning
smiled with the rising sun
three little birds
sitting on my doorstep

Today I find myself in Scorzè, a town of about ten thousand people that lays to the West of Venice.  My evenings are quiet.  I sit at a kitchen table covered in empty dishes and talk with my host couple.  We speak slowly to each other.  My host mother, Francesca, speaks almost no English.  Our conversations involve a mix of Italian, English, and very complex hand gestures.  

The kitchen table is an important area to this family, and I understand why it has been defined as such over the years.  It is a sturdy, dark wood table, no doubt built by a relative some hundred years ago.  You might never see the wood though, because Francesca covers it with a clean cloth between every meal.  This morning it is a mixed pattern of blue checkers in the center and a white border filled with sewn flowers and ducks.  

The one window in the kitchen opens from the middle, with two pieces.  It has heavy shutters to hold the light out.  One of my favorite morning rituals is opening the kitchen window, and leaning out as I push the shutters as far as they will go against the outer wall of the house.

I am the only person awake at this point.  The house creaks with my movements. The family’s love for beautiful wood is heard as well as seen.  I click the gas stove’s starter, lighting a burner.  Then I pack some coffee and make myself an americano.  

Scorzè’s quiet nature stands out this early in the morning.  Birds living around the house come out, and I hear them chirp to each other.  After weeks of intense socialization, and meeting a dozen new people every day, it is nice to slow down.  The quiet is restorative.  My mind relaxes with the bit of free time, and I can start to unwind all that has happened in the past month. It is a different life than in the city.  In Scorzè I hear every car that comes nearby, and more than that I hear the minute of silence between them.  At points the only sound is the rustle of tree leaves, or the squeak of a bird awaiting its mother.  I appreciate this slow pace.  

It is difficult to say which lifestyle I enjoy more.  The drawl of a summer day in the farmland of Italy brings peace.  I lose myself in the quiet beauty, and repeat my activities knowingly.  Now I will cook, now I will eat, now I will read, now I will sleep.  But the hectic nature of city life is exciting.  What will happen tomorrow is in large part a mystery.  In Scorzè I could easily live a life unhindered by outside influence.  My days would be predictable and smooth.  Every action would have its place and I would only have new thoughts when I searched for them.

City life would mean having new thoughts thrust upon me constantly.  The splendid amount of knowledge is almost appetizing.  I could feast upon the sheer number of opinions, and test my creativity, my theories, my philosophies, daily.  Every hour would be a new chance to learn, every minute an opportunity to have my life changed.

I travel to learn.  I love the day to day struggle of philosophical confrontation.  If my ideas are right, I will hold them.  If another person has a better way of thinking I will try that on for size.  Maybe I won’t find the perfect place to live, but I can figure out which lifestyles are best for me.  The discomfort of constantly redefining my life is a way of progressing.  Someday the discomfort will lead to a deeper understanding of who I am and what I want with everyday life.

As for now, the countryside to the West of Venice is a wonderful place to find myself.  Soon my host family will join me for a small breakfast.  Thoughts of a life can fade.  I can begin my day, and again continue to learn. The quiet is fading. This wooden house is creaking louder, and the birds are waking up even more.

They are singing sweet songs
of melodies pure and true
saying, “This is my message to you.”