all olio, all the time

Well olives found in the millions, in Toscana, in trees crazy old like planted by Benedictine monks old, and it is a lovely way to spend the days hundreds of feet up in the silvery green, collecting the tiny jewels - some in easter pastels some in purpleblacks - wondering who was in this tree a thousand years ago?
Practically drinking the green golden gold, there is so much of it.
Always farming in foothills, always a silhouette of a mountain beyond, a village on top. Here, near Mt. Amiata, the distance one can see - and the detail of that view - is remarkable, three wide bands of color up the mountain, the topmost already in winter, autumn in the middle, and summer still hanging around the bottom.
Now in Rome, tomorrow to Ireland just for a week before returning to the States. Many places we had intended on going that we won't be getting to, on this trip anyway. Already working on a plan for next winter because although we are excited for home and family, we feel like we could just keep going at this point.
Ah, but orchards to plant and goats to raise and bread ovens to build is sounding pretty sweet too.
That will be all, friends. Can't wait to see you.
The end.