Messinia is my uncombed beauty…and I never grow tired of combing her tangled braids. Night and day throughout all the seasons…relieved at last …void of desire to be anywhere else doing anything else. Her dreadlocks are enough for me…more then enough…At first I used to call her “my uncombed Tuscany” because she had so much to say through such a similar constitution…rolling her hills, rising up with cypresses, being simply so beautiful…so gentle…so lucent. But now I have forgotten all the other names…and my shadow is cast genuinely on her bewildering bearing.
Messinia is my uncombed beauty…
and I never grow tired of combing her tangled braids.
Night and day…
throughout all the seasons…
…relieved at last…
...void of desire to be anywhere else doing anything else.
Her dreadlocks are enough for me
…more then enough… 
At first I used to call her “my uncombed Tuscany”… 
…because she had so much to say through such a similar constitution…
…rolling her hills, rising up with cypresses,…
being simply so beautiful
…so gentle…so lucent. 
But now I have forgotten all the other names……and my shadow is cast genuinely on her bewildering bearing.
Mon, January 23, 2017Messinia, Olive tree valley
