The first of May is a national holiday in Italy, dedicated to the workers. The roads were busy with traffic, holidaymakers returning home. On fast roads we soon left the crowds behind and headed into Umbria, the green heart of Italy. Mountains rose all around us, their slopes rich with trees. Here and there, hill-top villages cascaded from the peaks, topped by church spires or castellated walls, reminders of past sieges. Wisps of cloud stretched just below the peaks, like casually worn scarves draped across the shoulders.
It was almost dark when we arrived in Spello. The rose-coloured stones had dulled to a light ochre and the cypress trees looked black in the fading light. My heart soared; returning to Spello was just like coming home.
The crepuscular sky held a promise of good weather ahead.
The pale moon hung like a paper lantern in the dark sky, pinprick stars piercing the velvet night.
Spello, you look wonderful tonight. Time to dream now of friends revisited and adventures to come.