Day 4: Between Two Hills

The ground rises sharply as we follow the path.  The air smells of Bay and damp vegetation.  My hair curls around my face and the clouds are low over the hills.  We are almost alone here.  Two women who work at the garden's cafe talk quietly in the doorway as it begins to rain.  Even the plants seem quiet: they've drawn back into the ground and their remaining leaves are brown.  At the bottom of the valley, the Arno reflects brown and orange trees and cream houses.  Raindrops darken my page.