There are days in May when the only thing you can really eat is fruit salad. There is no need to suffer though. Fruit salad and a piece of creamy French full fat cheese of any kind, with fresh baguette and maybe a few pieces of baby arugula with toasted walnuts, and raisins, a squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of olive oil, are good to anybody. I only made it through the fruit salad, but I think I am in a waking state of hibernation. A little wine, a cherry, a piece of bread, and sleep. I like to think that I am about to come up with some amazing idea for something, and that’s why my brain is in such a state of exhaustion. Or maybe I am just subconsciouslymoved by the work of the earth, pushing out all of those leaves and flowers, that I feel like I was the one having the baby. If you think too much about what’s around you here, you start crying. It is a lot to take on. Poppies running wild through the fields, tiny white flowers shoving their way through the leaves on the olive trees, wheat fields swaying in the rush of a breeze, and wildflowers everywhere. Growing out of doorways, through tree trunks, out of the walls. Life is taking over in Italy.