Wonderful Day, Wonderfilled Life

What a wonderful day it had been.
I sat with Peter, Jayne’s husband,
lunching with Kate, Jayne’s friend,
and Aaron and his Richard,
Jayne’s son and son-in-law.
Jayne was somewhere, painting,
my Barbara, too.
An accidental meeting between us,
the non-painters on the tour,
way, way, way high up
in a small Tuscan village.
Bel canto music purred
In the outdoor speakers.
Their dishes looked like canvasses.
peasant food made fabulous
I wasn’t hungry, so I passed.
I wasn’t thirsty, either,
but I drank their wine.
We talked,
then we walked,
and talked some more,
about nothing, mostly.
Not even about Jayne.
Or Barbara.
I bought a small painting
from a small studio,
for a small number of Euros.
It hangs now in a small corner of our home,
and in a big part of my memory.
We rode down
to our Montecatini hotel
in a bright red funicular
and never once thought to
sing Volare.
What a wonderful day it had been.