If he could, he'd write poems on how pretty she looked, on how perfect she was. He'd probably make the next Catullus or even better, he'd dare say. Everyone would love to read about her and how she makes him feel. He even wonders how she isn't loved...
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On a chilly summer morning, a bouncy curly-haired sun rose and shone above the flower
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-Now playing: La Descrizione Di Un Attimo by Tiromancino ✫
Early in September, just hours before midday. The sun is not high yet but shines light through the whole town. Like the weak and bright sun rays, Daphne's dad drove on the road, pushing through the fresh waves of the summer morning breeze. As background noise was crunching stones produced by the tyres.
Breeze combed the hair strokes. Morning freshness caused the rise of goosebumps. Butterflies in the stomach showed how excited Daphne was about moving. Yes, moving.
Usually, they'd come to the countryside only for the summer holidays but now she would stay longer. A smile was printed on her face as she observed. She was going to like this, she thought. She was going to like this place, this new beginning. She started regretting ever complaining about moving in the first place.
Her mother was in the passenger seat explaining how the town was beautiful, her fingers pointed at random spots occasionally. Daphne wasn't even listening to her. She only thought that her mother could save her breath because she didn't need any more convincing: the view before her spoke for itself.
Daphne lowered her window and, with an arm swinging outside, she observed, she beheld the sight. The car took a turn and now they were riding up a hill along a road surrounded by beautiful houses.
It'd been long since she last came here but she couldn't tell if the place had changed or she'd just forgotten.
Women were spreading out the laundry, dusting carpets, watering flowers. Pink, yellow, red, purple flowers. They painted the street. Some kids were playing in their front yard. Dogs barked and ran to their gates as they drove by. The bottom floors housed a variety of shops and all had a little banner on the doors that said 'open'. A flower shop. Greengrocery. Ironmongery. A bakery. A butcher's shop. And many more. The people looked friendly as they greeted them. She happily greeted back, and her smile expanded.
"This place is beautiful, Mom," her words caught the respondent off-guard as she immediately looked in the backseat to agree with her daughter, glad she wasn't angry anymore. "We're almost there," the dad informed, taking another turn.
The road they were riding led away from that loving neighbourhood of flowers-fields on the left and a few farms on the right. Daphne's dark hair waved with the breeze. The smell of manure filled her nostrils but instead of feeling unpleasant, it reminded her of how lovely living in the countryside was. Horses were munching on the grass. Bells on sheep rang as she passed by the flock. The manure smell was soon replaced by the one of grass coming from the left where tractors were working on the field. The big vehicles were shaping the dried grass into big blocks reminding her of her childhood and how she used to spend her time watching the whole process.
