I once made love to an Italian peasant woman with a face of your most loved leather shoe. Though she was not young, she had the lightest heart of any woman I have ever met. Her smile was innocent and seemed to have its own life and moods. Standing next to Mona Lisa you would have asked, “oh, she is your sister?”
After one of our embraces in the hay barn, she saw my soul was troubled like a boiling pot of Minestrone, restless, jumpy. She led me to the edge of the vineyard, and told me:
“Walk. Just walk..”
I started to walk through the vines, and three days later many truths were hanging before me like grape cluster.
So my friends, find this place, or any straight line, maybe 5th avenue, the beach, a traintrack, and begin. The Greeks had a whole school of philosophy called the Peripatetics, which translates as, “guys who walk.”
And if it is cold, rainy, it is even better, as this makes glass of Scotch tastes niiice.