Strange indeed.
This icy wind ( ” Tramontana ” ) blows straight across our lake from the snowy Apenines; it´s whining storm-force. It chills the bone, though the April sun is warm ( where there´s shelter ) . Here on the West Bank, medieval Gradoli, enormous waves are whipped cold. Never saw the likes of it. As soon as the Tramontana stops blowing and freezing us, we´ll be baked, of course.
Tweaking my texts for my new work, ” MY ALTO RHAPSODIES”. Must contain sharp, arresting pictures plus soaring syllables and high rapture,
quillspilling, windhoverish. Over the top. Like this Tramontana. It will.