The Tuscan hills have faded into darkness,
the wine is finished,
plates are empty,
the fire in the fire pit burns low.
We rise, four friends
reluctant to return to our rooms
in the stone house on the hill.
“Ciao,” says the caretaker of olive trees
and donkeys and fences
and ancient houses he helped repair.
He has treated us to a late, relaxed
outdoor, fire-cooked dinner.
“Take ten minutes,” he says.
“Lie on the ground on your back
and look up.”
The four of us say, ”Ciao
and gratzie”
and kiss his cheeks,
first one, then the other,
and trudge uphill in the dark of midnight.
We don’t have to say it;
we all know we will do it.
In the yard,
past a row of tall, thin, cone-shaped cypress,
we lie down and stretch out, silent,
backs on hard ground and prickly grass.
We hold hands and gaze up
into a violet-black canvas
scattered with stars so bright, so close
that I stretch up my leg
as if I could touch them with my toes.
From this vantage point,
the cypress and olives look upside down
a black border for this midnight canvas
of sky,
of deep space,
of deep peace.
We wonder what we did to deserve
this moment,
this wide, wild wonder.
The answer is nothing.
This is the way life is meant to be lived,
looking up at the stars.
This is the caretaker’s gift,
shared like a closely held secret:
Take care of this moment.
Take care of your heart,
your soul,
your life.
Take care of this wonder of a world.
Take ten minutes,
lie back on the ground,
and look up.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.