On the peaceful flatland of the Val di Chio, just below the city, I climbed out onto the floor of this field of sunflowers. They were tall and I wanted to stand among them, to look up and see the sun glowing through their golden crowns. I made my way amongst the giant leathery leaves, trying not to step on anyone’s feet. I was able to see, through the many flowery faces, my beautiful and ancient Etruscan village silhouetted against the sky, creating the dramatic background I hoped for in this painting. I wondered if the Etruscans planted sunflowers here. I didn’t linger, for I know the very much still-living proprietor tending these flowers could have soon arrived to question me. As I escaped through the mud, I sensed a thousand years of culture still thrived in this field.

These large girasole are just now reaching their full maturity and are covered with a million buzzing bumble bees. Their heads are heavy with the seeds and have begun to lean over with the weight. The petals droop gently down across their giant smiling faces. Too heavy to follow the sun, the flowers simply remain facing east.

Sometimes I park outside the main gate of the city, and walk up into the busy streets to go to my local post office or shop for a local wine or book. There is a coffee bar and pizza place just outside the massive, medieval gate, where old men always sit playing poker, laughing and talking. The old women are never with them. They are inside the village walls hanging out the clothes to dry above the narrow streets, running small shops, buying fresh bread for the day and talking loudly to each other. Their voices echo noisily within the ancient stone walls. - JC