Memories of an Italian Vegetable Market

I was just in the garden. My cool bare feet felt so good on the hot cement that had absorbed a full day of sunshine. Now I was taking in this solar heat though the soles of my feet. The gentlest summer breeze was stirring the golden wild oats across the way. The same wind rustled the banana leaves. I received the blessings of this gentle zepher as it creased my cheek. I reflected on the subtle moments of the day. I was in the vegetable market in Italy today where I shop on Friday morning. There is one old lady I return to each week to buy her wares. She does not have as many vegetables as many of the other venders and she is slow to add up the amounts of a purchases. But this is not why I am there. She is beautiful and she is gentle with her customers. We have a silent knowing of each other. She knows that I am patient and I am not bothered or in a hurry like many of the people who have come to buy her vegetables. I am there to enjoy the smell of her herbs that are wrapped in neat bundles. To examine her fresh brown eggs that just came from under her hen. I am there to commune silently with this ancient woman of the earth, whose hands are plumb and also have rich Italian soil under her fingernails. Today as she gave me my change her hand brushed mine and in that one instant I felt her inner gentle nature. She lives with the earth her body has absorbed the earth elements and the earth’s gentle ways. That is why I had come back each week.  "I would like to dedicate this piece of writing to all the Elders that have passed on from Covid 19, may we remember their stories and their wisdom."  Raylenea