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The Scent of Sicily
“Shy love, oh! It reveals itself quickly...”
Shakespeare
Sicily.
Taormina ...
When you have climbed the steep hill above the old town and look over the stone arches of the ruins of the amphitheater, all of Sicily lies at your feet.
So far ...
So green ...
Up here, between ancient stones and olive trees, a gentle wind blows, and it tells us of orange blossoms and citrus groves lying down there, on the slopes of the volcano.
The land is green, as far as the eye can see.
It is the green, bitter oranges that shape the scent of Sicily.
There is nothing sweet or lovely about this fragrance.
It is strict, simple and fresh, green and sun-drenched.
And this freshness is as sunny yellow as lemons, golden like oranges, so clear and azure blue, like the summer sky, light and of bright, airy expanses, never intrusive.
It is almost as if the sun itself, burning hot on the ancient stones, wanted to mix with the scent of the bitter oranges ...
Sicilia, volevi dire Arcadia, la terra dei miei sogni là nel mare blu profondo ...
It is a scent that can only find its counterpart in a song.
In a song like this:
il sogno é il mondo mio, tu sai che oggi morirei per onestá.
ascolti me, si tu lo sai, che solo il sogno è per me la realtà.
amico, sai cosa ti direi, inutile? fuggivole tutto per noi in mani e per me lo sai.
il sogno mio, é vero ormai.
Is there a need for further words …?
Shakespeare
Sicily.
Taormina ...
When you have climbed the steep hill above the old town and look over the stone arches of the ruins of the amphitheater, all of Sicily lies at your feet.
So far ...
So green ...
Up here, between ancient stones and olive trees, a gentle wind blows, and it tells us of orange blossoms and citrus groves lying down there, on the slopes of the volcano.
The land is green, as far as the eye can see.
It is the green, bitter oranges that shape the scent of Sicily.
There is nothing sweet or lovely about this fragrance.
It is strict, simple and fresh, green and sun-drenched.
And this freshness is as sunny yellow as lemons, golden like oranges, so clear and azure blue, like the summer sky, light and of bright, airy expanses, never intrusive.
It is almost as if the sun itself, burning hot on the ancient stones, wanted to mix with the scent of the bitter oranges ...
Sicilia, volevi dire Arcadia, la terra dei miei sogni là nel mare blu profondo ...
It is a scent that can only find its counterpart in a song.
In a song like this:
il sogno é il mondo mio, tu sai che oggi morirei per onestá.
ascolti me, si tu lo sai, che solo il sogno è per me la realtà.
amico, sai cosa ti direi, inutile? fuggivole tutto per noi in mani e per me lo sai.
il sogno mio, é vero ormai.
Is there a need for further words …?
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19 Comments
Great comment!