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April 2025

In Spring, my two worlds in Italy and California burst into bloom. Regal irises preen in Florence; azaleas beam on the Spanish Steps; wisteria drips from every terrace. On the Sonoma coast, wildflowers—blazing blues, sun-shiny yellows, incandescent reds—riot over hills, meadows and dunes. Across the miles in between, the air tingles with the thrill of new beginnings.

Once again, the truism that everything sounds better in Italian proves itself—including Spring (primavera), when flowers blossom (sbocciare) and trees turn green again (rinverdire). As further testimony, consider these lyrical lines from Italian verses:

• “La fioritura incanta i campi, e il vento sussurra segreti tra i boccioli.”
  (The bloom enchants the fields, and the wind whispers secrets among the buds.)
• “I germogli si schiudono piano, salutando il sole con timida speranza.”
  (The buds open slowly, greeting the sun with timid hope.)
• “Nel risveglio della terra, ogni foglia sussurra una nuova storia.”
  (In the awakening of the earth, every leaf whispers a new story.)
• “La natura si veste di rinascita, e ogni fiore è un sorriso del sole.”
  (Nature dresses in rebirth, and every flower is a smile from the sun.)

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