I‘m writing this post in real time, in synch with my life. (FYI, I don’t always do that). But anyways, I’m currently sitting amongst a pile of luggage, waiting for a bus to take me south through the Tuscan countryside back to my “hometown” in Italy, Siena.
It’s hard to put my finger exactly on the way I’m feeling. This will be the 5th consecutive summer that I’ve spent at least a little time in Siena. During the winter months, I yearn to be sitting in the sunshine in the Campo, so to almost be there again is meraviglioso.
But it’s not sheer excitement I feel at the thought of walking through the familiar streets and seeing familiar faces. Which is weird for me. I should be over-the-top excited, shouldn’t I? Except this feeling is more subdued, but not displeasing.
I just happily (yes, I am very happy) anticipate the familiar feeling of weaving amongst crowds on the Corso, or taking in a view of the skyline from behind San Domenico, or of sitting in my favourite spot in the piazza, watching the world go by. I know what to expect from my time in Siena. It is, to steal from the Eagles, a peaceful, easy feeling that awaits me, and I’m happy to feel so at home in another place.