Reflection, Fellowship, Inspiration—Writer's Tools

by Emme Gannon @GannonEmme

The tall iron gates lay open like welcoming arms. We entered and trudged slowly along the wide pathway, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. As we rounded the bend, the sprawling eighteenth century stone villa came into view and looked to be perched on a cloud of gentle sloping hills. 

As if preparing for our visit, the sky sent gentle drops of rain, baptizing the landscape with a brilliant sheen. I paused, mesmerized by the beauty and anticipation of what blessings lay before us. And the rain mingled with my tears.

 

One doesn’t just visit Tuscany. The land is too alive with stimulation, scents, sounds, and visions that woo all who are brave enough to savor each moment and deliciously ingest its wonder. While it is the birthplace of Renaissance and home to world famous art masterpieces, including Michelangelo’s David, it is the countryside with its rolling green hills and olive grooves that catered to my soul. 

 

Our bedroom, with its high ornate ceilings opened to a library where logs had been placed in the fireplace just in case we wished to read by the warmth of a fire. We opened the ornate wooden door opposite the fireplace and discovered a rooftop deck where we arrived just in time to watch the long shadows of sunset slide across the hilly terrain causing the land to look as if it had just been dipped in a rainbow. The only sound was the breeze as it caressed the nearby trees. We’d not known such silence—the kind that causes one to imagine the sound of the grapes growing in the vineyard below.

 

At night we’d fling open the casement window, fall asleep under the thick-curtained canopy bed, and wake to the sound of birdsongs and a lone rooster announcing the new day. Absent was the swish of cars and trucks whizzing by. Only the reverential quiet of the land as it readied for a new day. Stepping onto the roof top deck, we could hear distant church bells carried by the breeze from a far off village. 

 

Unburdened by the sounds of urban life, my mind was free to rest and release hidden dreams and aspirations, to breath quietly with the gentle rhythm of the peaceful countryside. Joy caught us by surprise. As I grabbed my journal, my pen could not keep up with descriptions of my sense of wonder.

 

Days were spent exploring nearby medieval towns with other guests of the villa, where we’d walk on centuries old cobblestone paths. Then the small city of Florence with its cathedrals and artistic treasures. By late afternoon, we’d be back to the villa where we’d gather for a magnificent meal prepared from local delicacies like fresh picked vine-ripened tomatoes that would explode in our mouths and stimulate our taste buds with sweet sour savory lusciousness.

 

After sharing our experiences with our fellow travelers, we’d return to our room, inspired by the restorative power of reflection, fellowship, and the inspiration that had been birthed. 

 

Psychiatrists have long extoled the restorative power of gardens and nature on mental health. While my Tuscan memories are from long ago, they are alive because they were intensified by taking time to let its beauty feed all the senses and sharing experiences with others.

These days, my soul is nurtured by my own garden and connecting the beauty of nature with past experiences, letting my mind draw up memories like the sun pulls water into the sky and forms clouds which then send the moisture back again to the earth to refresh and bring life to the land. I think that’s what sweet memories do. They attach themselves to us and bring new life. And words. And stories.

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Reflection, Fellowship, Inspiration — Writer's Tools - @GannonEmme on @EdieMelson (Click to Tweet)

Emme Gannon is a wife, mother, and grandmother who loves to write stories that stir the heart. Her award-winning writing has appeared in Focus on the Family magazine, several anthologies, and numerous newsletters. She just completed her first novel.