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In the afternoon they would climb the hill behind the house, winding up through the vineyards. Stopping to eat small, dark grapes, hot and sweet from the sun, the taste lingering all the way to the top. Up there it was so bright...her joy emerged from the shadows. At the top she could do a slow pan down into the bay. She thought she could almost see the shells littering the beach after the storm. And when he said capture this place, this moment ...her heart was with him. He said they could stay forever…she noticed his fingers were stained with grapes and dark ink. How he loved the house fronting the sea...and her wild garden spilling out in what locals called In Stile the English Style . The garden where she could clear her mind and be at peace. What were those lines he had written for her in Rome? The memory shone like silver and made her believe in happiness again.


That garden sweet, that lady fair,

And all sweet shapes and odours there,

In truth have never passed away

Tis we, tis ours, are changed, not they.

                                               Percy Shelley


A double necklace. Two bunches of grapes made from old silver beads. A silvered-mirrored bead soldered to an antique, hammered sterling salt shaker top. On verso I have hand-engraved a particular sea coast…the bay of Lerici. A silver spoon with a shell has been created as Mary's talisman. On a second chain, a leaf has been carved from a silver-plated knife...hand-engraved...linked with clear glass beads like drops of dawn dew...or tears.



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