When Time Begins


Frances Mayes writes of the sun-dappled hills of Tuscany, and I can smell the fragrance of herbs, earth, and cypress trees mingle in the air. I love the idea of driving to a vineyard to purchase house wine in demijohns and stopping alongside the road to forage for prickly asparagus. I can daydream about life in Tuscany with its frequent visits to the piazza for morning espresso and for evening wine. Dreamy…

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