When my alarm rocks me awake, the horizon is just beginning to bloom. The valley outside our bedroom window sparkles under the lightest dusting of powdered sugar, a gift from the sweet-toothed godmother of 3 a.m. Mount Subasio’s snowcap rounds out the purple sky. It is morning.
The horizon’s blush deepens, silhouetting familiar bell towers against a backdrop of vivid rose, and then pales as the sun makes her debut. One, then two, then fifty stufe curl feather-white smoke into a sky the color of lemon gelato. Hints of blue in the distance whisper of our Apennine guardians. This is home.
In a few minutes, I will finish my cappuccino. I will button Natalie up in her grembiule for school and give the house its morning airing (though I might avoid draping all our bedding out the windows as our neighbors are prone to do). The olive grove behind our house will rustle off its snow as the day warms marigold, and the local guild of songbirds will get to socializing. A typical day will be in full swing before I know it.
But at least for the moment, I do know it. Looking out over the cypresses of a 2500-year old city and in over the nuances of our Italian life, I am humbled. The expat experience is often challenging (if not downright frustrating) and requires a heaping supply of flexibility (if not insanity)… but it is the kind of long-term adventure that fills our hearts, remodels them for greater capacity, and fills them again. And at least for the moment, this sunrise—like the day it colors in, like the Etruscan stones gleaming from the next hilltop, like the adventure we wake up to every morning—is an immeasurable gift.
beautiful!
I get that feeling too some mornings, mainly when the fog lifts and I find myself gazing at Monte Rosa, so far away, towering in my eye line while I clean my teeth.
Must say am preferring this hard sparkling frost with a bright blue sky every morning when compared to the damp, cloudy, going to snow any minute skies we have had for weeks.
And how exactly are you making cappuccino in the home ?
I had a machine (deceased) that claimed to make it, but was stretching the truth. Now I stick to the mokka for first thing to cut down on the swearing.
Sarah, home educating British mum to a mini Italian nationalist in deepest, darkest, foggiest Lomellina
A wonderful welcome to a new day. I used to get up and go running before the sun rose, and the sunrise was always my special treat. I can only imagine how beautiful it must be in Italy. But your words make it feel like I am there in the peace of the day-break, before the day really starts. Thank you.
Expat experience: equal helpings frustration, insanity, resignation and joy 🙂
Heike – Thanks, sweet friend. When are you coming to visit?
Sarah – We used to use a mokka and a little stovetop milk frother, but a sexy new De Longhi cappuccino machine was one of my Christmas gifts this year. It’s hard to stay loyal to the mokka when I can feel like a real barista in my kitchen. 🙂 (Glad to “meet” you, by the way! It’s always a happy thing to remember I’m not the only person navigating life in Italy with an outsider’s perspective.)
Meg – I am not in any way, shape, form, or grotesque stretch of the imagination a morning person, but you’re right. The sunrise is a treat that makes getting up early worth all the horror of… getting up early. Plus, I get about 5000% more done with my day when I’m up before the girls. Not sure anything could entice me to run before breakfast though. 🙂
Sorry Liz, your comment got stuck in the over-vigilant spam filter. Anyway, yes to the frustration and insanity and resignation and joy… plus that unidentifiable thing that makes us love a transplanted life, that thing that baffles others and makes me sound like an idiot when I try to explain why we moved. That.