Early morning in Carmine. Not one of the glamorous, sunglasses-bright breakfast-overlooking-Lago Maggiore mornings we've been having of late, but overcast and delicately raining.
I'm addicted to the smells of Carmine when it rains gently after a period of drought.
Soft earth.
Fig leaves.
Honeysuckle.
Wet cat.
Grass and woodland.
And the scent of the ancient stones themselves. The musk of ages.
Saturday, 26 July 2008
With the rain
Early morning in Carmine. Not one of the glamorous, sunglasses-bright breakfast-overlooking-Lago Maggiore mornings we've been having of late, but overcast and delicately raining.
I'm addicted to the smells of Carmine when it rains gently after a period of drought.
Soft earth.
Fig leaves.
Honeysuckle.
Wet cat.
Grass and woodland.
And the scent of the ancient stones themselves. The musk of ages.
I'm addicted to the smells of Carmine when it rains gently after a period of drought.
Soft earth.
Fig leaves.
Honeysuckle.
Wet cat.
Grass and woodland.
And the scent of the ancient stones themselves. The musk of ages.
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