On the shore of the diminutive Isola Maggiore in Central Italy's Lake Trasimeno St. Francis of Assisi passed Lent in 1211 with nothing but a single loaf of bread to sustain him, after which he returned to celebrate Easter with his "brothers and sisters" at their retreat outside Cortona. This spot, marked by a tiny, rough-stone chapel, was where he first came ashore and later embarked after his 40 days of solitude.

 

I saw this scene unfold on the 4th St.Promenade in Santa Monica. I don't know if the guy's girlfriend ever caught on to his roving eye.

Rome, Italy. Ponte Milvio.

 

Memories of a long journey, Los Angeles to Rome via Toronto and Frankfurt. Late at night most passengers were asleep and the cabin darkened. I was chatting with a flight attendant in the galley area when this gentleman spoke briefly with another attendant, then went and got his prayer rug. I hurried back to my seat for my sketchbook.

 

Like a medieval vision rising from the surrounding fields and olive groves of the Tuscan foothills of the Appenine Mountains, Rocca di Pierla is a step backwards into the distant past. Only a narrow dirt road lined by crumbling homes circles the ruins of the castle, and strangers are greeted by chickens running free and the occasional friendly dog. My Italian wife asked a stooped and leathery local whose castle it once was. "Beh," he answered, "era cosi tanto tempo fa chi si ricorda (it was so long ago who can remember)?"