What can YOU say in six sentences?
Collinas, Sardegna, a quaint hilltop where it is not uncommon to live to one hundred and three… shepherds, shop-owners, craftsman--stonemasons, bricklayers, and carpenters--chefs, teachers, and artists gather to celebrate. Fresh, colorful, and well fit, like the patrons of Virginia Beach, yet when you look closer you see stony faces and reserved townsfolk, like Spartans of yesteryear.
They assemble at their Romanesque town square to dance to the accordion, tambourine, guitar and shepherd’s pipe… a southern Mediterranean style music, side by side the couples form in a circle as their feet perform fast and rhythmic while the body remains still… old, young, and in-between.
Before long, I join in with a beautiful yet austere woman when a young girl approaches and signals to whisper in my ear; and as I lean forward she says, “My dear sir, you are suppose to clasp the top of her arm, above the gentle ladies’ wrist and you will do just fine.” Trying not to smile I nod and gently move my arm from around my partner’s waist and clasp my hand gently above her wrist as she sighs in relief and the circle of dancers barely grin.
We pause for a sip of Mirto and dance past midnight until the music ends, then sit in the medieval garden watching the townsfolk depart when a dog barks yet in whispering tones and joined by another and another, although they fall silent when a rooster crows, but he also falls silent as the townsfolk’s shutters close, and again, I hear music of a different sort… undertones of love in the dark night air.