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FrancescaReganPoems
Born to an Italian father and a dreaming, wide-eyed American, travel was my fortune, my life before I chose it. One late September evening, my wide-brimmed velvet hat and I   discovered what it was to fly. Surging through moving sculptures of clouds, riding the Pan Am night flight to London, I was nine, and I was hooked. Peter Pan was my secret love then. I had saved my loose tooth for the English tooth fairy, wishing and hoping for an English penny. Scones and bridges from my books were real now to taste and see. I began to write then, mostly in my mind. That was how I lived then, and still do. Finding and forming words within for everything. A sacred artesian spring, i Fonti del Clitunno. Perfection at Paestum. Stonehenge, when one could still walk among those holy stones. The early church of Santa Sabina, whose high windows transmit light through membranes of mica. The abiding silence of these ancient, sacred places   held me transfixed. Continuity of time flowed, like invisible honey, all around me. I wanted to taste it with my mind. Know it with all of my being. And one day, find the right words.
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Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
Vagabonda
Born to an Italian father and a dreaming, wide-eyed American, travel was my fortune, my life before I chose it. One late September evening, my wide-brimmed velvet hat and I   discovered what it was to fly. Surging through moving sculptures of clouds, riding the Pan Am night flight to London, I was nine, and I was hooked. Peter Pan was my secret love then. I had saved my loose tooth for the English tooth fairy, wishing and hoping for an English penny. Scones and bridges from my books were real now to taste and see. I began to write then, mostly in my mind. That was how I lived then, and still do. Finding and forming words within for everything. A sacred artesian spring, i Fonti del Clitunno. Perfection at Paestum. Stonehenge, when one could still walk among those holy stones. The early church of Santa Sabina, whose high windows transmit light through membranes of mica. The abiding silence of these ancient, sacred places   held me transfixed. Continuity of time flowed, like invisible honey, all around me. I wanted to taste it with my mind. Know it with all of my being. And one day, find the right words.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
#silence#timetravel#london#continuity#timelessness#sacredancientplaces
FrancescaRegan
Written by
FrancescaRegan
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
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