Recently, water has filled our days rather dramatically. It pours down heavy and relentless from the sky, obscuring the landscape. It cascades down the hillsides. It tumbles down the roads. It overflows the riverbeds. It clashes and smashes against the stormy waves of the sea.
When we don't hear it pounding loudly against our windows and rooftops, we hear the roar of the river at the bottom of the valley.
All this water has caused damage and deaths in north Italy and across the border in southern France. In the last three weeks, we've had several days of Level 2 weather alert, meaning that schools and offices were closed, and people were asked not to leave their homes. Our provincial road to town is closed because of a series of landslides (thirteen, no less, on a ten-kilometer road).
Yesterday we had a brief respite from the rainstorms, and took a walk in our woods. Here on our hilltop, all the water that has fallen over the last few days sparkled white and bright in the sunshine. Downhill, on the other hand, it's brown and muddy, and cannot be contained.
I'm grateful that we're all safe, but keep in my thoughts all those near us who have been less fortunate.