Signora Sheila

Sitting here at the kitchen table, I hear the shepherd who lives uphill start his dilapidated truck. It seems quieter this time. Perhaps he has repaired it since our last visit. Or maybe our closed windows muffle the rattle.

But it’s a welcome sound. For this quiet mountain village sinks into a deep silence as the cold weather arrives. Tourists and visitors leave. Villagers huddle around their fires, venturing out only to buy their few groceries, or pay bills at the post office.

Some neighbors are bringing in their winter wood supply. Later we’ll hear them throwing logs down the steps of the old cobbled street later on. And the clatter of their wheelbarrows as they tug them up and down.

But not at this early hour. Now they are huddled before crackling fires, sipping their morning espresso. Or rushing their kids to catch the school bus to the larger village nearby.

Yes, mornings here in our mountain village are quiet. A deep, penetrating silence. A quiet that can, I suppose, feel heavy and oppressive to some. Many of the residents here find it so. For them it signals another season of solitude and isolation. They are already eagerly awaiting the return of spring and the return of visitors.

But we city dwellers find it inviting. We embrace it, for the most part, without difficulty. Although city is an ironic term for our hometown of 3000 inhabitants. But to our villagers it must seem like a city, compared to their population of 400.

There’s a new family in town, Afghan refugees. A couple with lots of children. Hubby helped them buy clothing when he was out shopping for groceries. He said they seemed nice, but only spoke Farsi and English. I hope for their sake they learn Italian. Those languages won’t get very far here.

So there is some movement, but for the most part, we encounter a still, muffled silence. A silence that speaks of peace, rest, and restoration.

Tomorrow is Sunday, and in the morning we’re off to the tiny Evangelical church. It was the first in this province, founded 100 years ago. We’ll have breakfast in the only coffee bar and have the pleasure of seeing some of the villagers. And we’ll get to reconnect with our spiritual family too.

Life in this isolated place reinforces important lessons every time we come. It shows us how little we need to live. Reminds us to count our blessings. And nudges us towards the importance of taking time to stop, reflect, and be still before God. In many ways, it often seems like a crash course in Basic Living 101.

Life, when stripped down to its essentials, can be quite simple and uncomplicated. And I’m glad there are still places in this world that help us remember that.

But now, I see that my time is up. And that I actually went over my five mintures. For some reason, the timer didn’t work this time. :/

Five Minute Friday is a blog link-up with a weekly one-word prompt. It’s a free-writing exercise, which means no editing or overthinking. And no worrying about correct grammar or punctuation. Just write. Then link your published post to the link-up. Check in out!

📷 Image credits: lamp & chimney; other is mine