Ode to an island…or something

Stromboli, Stromboli!

An inspiring place that brings out the poet in me…but alas, the name is too unpoetic…

But, black shimmering beaches caught between an angry sea & an angry mountain…

Tiny roads caught between white walls & white houses in Piscita…

Lemon trees & bougainvilleas, in all shades from rose to red wine…

Exotic scents that tickle you with their perfume…

Insects buzzing…all seem to be exaggerated in size & sound…

Small “apes” (you say it as if the e had an accent) & scooters sounding amplified in the narrow lanes & the silent whirring of electric carts…

An old dog, soaking in the sun, cats being territorial on a wall, & birds having a ball in the trees…in every tree…sea gulls floating on the wind…

Black lava stone in walls, encased in the roads, cut as steps & curbs…

It is not a place easily mistaken for another, it is not a place to easily forget…

The volcano, in the middle, rising up, clouds of smoke billowing from its crater, often…(in the photo, those are not clouds, but is smoke))

An island, beautiful, rich in so many things, but not an easy place…

O, how I will miss you when my life is back to routine & normal…

I will close my eyes, hear the waves crash fiercely & think back to this…

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