Coming back from visiting a mesmerizing historic hamlet with frescoes dating back to the 1100s, I find myself gazing at the red-dotted fields of poppies and turquoise coloured seas of long grasses huming a song to myself. “Here comes the Sun, here comes the sun and I say It's all right.” Both the evocative buildings with its labyrinthine corridors I had just been to, the splashes of almost psychedelic hues around me and the warm rays of sun seemed to be leashing waves of optimism from somewhere inside. Now smiling and grateful for this positive emotion I reach a little house in a quaint hamlet near Castiglione del Lago.
I let myself in with the key to find a little hall with an old staircase reaching the first floor. A door to the left leads to the long kitchen-living room sprawled out towards the overgrown lawn of the garden on the other side of the French windows. The long grass seems to be peeking back inside, curious to see who the intruder is. The room is bright with large windows, wooden beams and old terracotta floors all it needs is a little laughter and chatter.
I walk upstairs to discover three bedrooms and a large bathroom. I open one of the old shutters and light pours in … “Here comes the sun... da da dada..” I close the front door and walk around the stone annex next door, curious to see the back yard. One one side a field of wheat extends to the distance, to the other with a vague glance of the lake there beyond, is the little garden. The grass is high and dark red poppys sway shyly but smiling.
True, it feels a little abandoned but with this sense of renewal I see that infact not that much needs doing in order to bring the Sunshine back into the house and for it to be alright.