Summer Month In Italy -

The secret, I think, was this: time moves differently here. It doesn’t race; it ripens.

The bell on the goat rang once as the taxi pulled away. And then the summer month was over—but not gone. It had become a place I could return to, anytime I closed my eyes and heard the cicadas begin. summer month in italy

Here’s a draft of a short story about a summer month in Italy. The secret, I think, was this: time moves differently here