It could be Mount Fuji with cherry blossom, but in reality it’s Mount Subasio with plum blossom.
There’s been snow on the mountains for nearly a week now.
Leaning out of the kitchen window this morning looking at the sprinkle of snow on the mountains, I caught sight of a strange patch of white.
For some reason the snow has stuck on one piece of land and nowhere else.
It looks like a plot of coppiced woodland, but why would the snow stick there and not on woodland proper, or pasture, or ploughland?
It must be something to do with the exact texture of the terrain, or the temperature of the ground as governed by the texture.
As dusk falls, snow has coated one side of the giant oak trunk. It could be an illustration out of a children’s book.
It’s been snowing on and off for hours, mostly in near-horizontal billowing gusts.
It started settling on the windward windowsills some time ago, but is only just now settling on the ground.
There’s a waterfall-freshness about the air and a hallowed quiet disturbed only by the wind.
I’m giving myself away, now. I absolutely love snow.
I took this photo with a zoom lens from our back door this morning. It shows Monte Subasio – the great whaleback mountain in the background – with the radio mast that transmits the signal for Radio Subasio, a private radio station.
Later in the day I was the other side of Monte Subasio, getting the car loaded up with sacks of pellets. The mountain loomed over us, riding above the mist, with the snow much more in evidence.
A bell was tolling out of the mist.
“What church is that?” I asked the lad who was loading the car. “And why is it tolling in the middle of the day?”
“Oh that’s Santa Maria. There’s a funeral.”
It was almost like the world stopped. Froze. A snowy mountain, a church bell and the thought of someone slipping away into eternity.
“It’s having a real effect on me,” I told the lad.
He smiled, so I’m guessing he understood.
This morning the tops of the mountains looked like blue sponge cake dusted with icing sugar.
I knew the snow would melt quickly, just like the hoar frost had already melted to pearly drops on the roses.
It’s a taste of things to come, but I love this season of pictorial contrasts.
It’s not quite summer and it’s not quite snow, but it’s white where it shouldn’t be.
Chokri has been doing repairs to the outside of the house including the surrounds of the windows, which are painted ivory white as opposed to the muted pink of the walls generally.
The painter who did the original work left us scarcely any ivory white paint and it got used up.
As the repairs seemed very minor – just filling the odd hole and crack – I thought we could cover them up with the paint we used for the stairwell and upstairs corridor because it happens to be exactly the right colour.
However Chokri got carried away and painted the whole of two window surrounds rather than just the bits of repair.
The rain has washed this non-waterfast paint down onto the pink paint, in long streaks.
I’ve tidied it up as best I can so it’s not too obvious in the photo, but when we get more rain it will all be to do again.
This is what it was like this morning.
But having cancelled putting up the shed due to rain on Saturday, the men – 2 Albanians – decided to go for it today.
This is them taking the first few steps.
And this is it nearly finished – just a few problems to iron out.