|
|
|
|
|
I recall how, years ago before dawn, on a Summer morning, I could hear through the open window of my room the splash of this fountain and get the scent from the lemon trees in the quadrangle three stories below. Often too in the mornings I would see old Fra Roco using the sprinkler to spray the parched grass between the rose beds. In those days too, the brother who had charge of the laundry would lay the newly washed sheets and pillow cases on the hedges. So warm was the sun that, by the time he had emptied his huge basket which was pushed around on wheels, the first of the clothes would be dry and ready for collection. The old brothers are dead and now there are machines to dry the clothes. |
|
Even though I remembered their acid taste, I was still surprised when I bit through the skin of one before I threw it away. The little white blossoms are much more sweetly scented. |
|
|
site map, links, and contact information rights
to all images and text |
|
A
deep reservoir of water fills during the night to provide water
for irrigating the garden. In the green depths of the pools there is
the gleam of gold fish. 
The
monastery gardens were a green oasis in the heat of a Roma summer.
Pine trees and fruit trees and plum trees gave a welcome shade. Quiet
paths intersected the plots where lawns and vegetables grew. On the
orange trees, this year's flowers shared space with last year's fruit.
These were bitter oranges fit only for making marmalade. 