Give Me Back My Face
(Or The Wrong Skull of Petrarch) I had not wished to go to Arquà. There are villages which seem made for the living, and villages which, though inhabited, have long since given themselves over to the dead. Arquà was of the latter kind. Its stones were too old to be merely stone. Its narrow lanes did not wind so much as remember. The olive trees, twisted by centuries of patient weather, leaned…
View On WordPress













