Woke up this morning in Assisi, Italy, to the sound of a sweeping rainfall. Yesterday, I pulled open the blinds when I first got to my hotel room to find stone buildings, terra cotta tiles, narrow strets, and beyond them fields fanning out to rumpled hills and a snow-tipped mountain. The vista's so broad that the pattern of the clouds overlays the pattern of the fields, making rounded shadow pools on the squared-off countryside. In some places clear gold sun lies on blocks of green, ocher, or deep brown-black; in others shadows mute the contrasts. In the middle of last night, for about an hour, far to the northeast, silent lightning lit up the sky behind a pile of black clouds. And this morning, rain. Huge, slanting drops, pounding for about twenty minutes, followed by a lighter steady rain as the storm moved across the valley.

I'm here to teach a writing workshop. I've never been to Italy before. Since I got here I've been climbing up and down the hilly streets, in and out of the shadows of centuries-old walls of buildings and freestanding churches in plazas. My students are talented, the hotel's quiet, and the food's terrific. And they thanked this session's students and teachers for bringing the rain. They hadn't had any for awhile and the olives were in trouble.

Internet connection's a little spotty here, but I'll report in when I can. Ciao bella! (The extent of my Italian, so far.)