Moving house

 

The time came when circumstances meant we had to move away from our ‘private road’ and life was never the same again.

“No more could I sit on our terrace or at the windows to watch the sea in all its moods, the rising sun bringing us into a new day, or its golden globe turning to flaming orange as it sank into night, leaving a sky streaked with deep reds and purple; nor could I see the fishing boats with their bobbing lanterns, or the port illuminated by the dazzling silver light of a full moon. No more front-row view of the exciting fireworks displays, children playing on the beaches, the to-ing and fro-ing of ferry boats, the noise of buses and coaches, the sound of music drifting up from the stradone, and chatter of holidaymakers strolling slowly down to the jetty. At night, other than the noise of cars and vespas, all I could hear was the lonely call of the white owl who occasionally flew out from his secret home somewhere on the mountain wall opposite our windows. We also left behind the daily contact with our neighbours, who were now good friends, and lost the feeling of being in a very close, family-like community.”

photograph – looking towards our ‘private road’ from Amalfi’s port.

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