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Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Roads around #Ravello 6. (Serialized Story in 12 Parts) by John von Daler

                   Springing down past vineyards and pastures we followed one steep stairway after another. Always, just as I was to gain in on her, I would reach a road crossing and would have to wait for the careening local bus, or a small
truck filled with olives, or a donkey carrying garbage. When I could resume the chase she would have regained her lead and I would have to strain myself to stay within reach.
                    As it turned out my mountain disguise, the English tweed suit, turned out to be no discreet partner as the sun was quite warm and the threads from a thousand Yorkshire sheep started to plague me with enough itching for one hundred thousand Yorkshire fleas.
  At the bottom of the stairway, there where Scala and Ravello are equidistant, she suddenly turned, and seeing me fast approaching her like a
British banshee careening out of control down the mountain, she made the most strange and mad gesture. Looking directly up towards me, my face
probably as red as Ravello wine, my shirt drenched in sweat, my tweeds billowing in the wind of my plunge, she smiled the smile I only have seen on apple-growing female politicians from the Danish isle of Funen, the most
inappropriate gesture of animosity disguised as friendship I ever have seen, and then she turned into a raven and flew up the mountainside to Ravello.
                    I was stunned. Regaining my decorum, however, I walked the steps to Ravello and reaching the main boulevard which points up in the direction of the Cathedral, I walked slowly and in as composed a fashion as I could towards the central square.
  Shortly before the square there is a stone building where the local wine merchant offers according to his sign a taste of the best wine on the mountain. This being as a matter of fact the only wine on the mountain makes his advertisement true and precise. Thus, I stopped in the knowledge that here I would in some way be allowed to regain my senses and in vino veritas
find some reason in this madness. (to be continued...)

Order my book: "Pieces: A Life in Eight Movements and a Prelude" (WiDo Publishing) from your favorite bookseller.

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