Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson

During the long weeks and months cooped up in our apartment, we were thankful that at least it was spring, that we could sit on our balcony in the sunlight, watch our seedlings grow and listen to the birdsong in the tops of the pines surrounding us. The colour green brought us hope, and it was green – green fields, green hills – in wide open spaces, that called to us when we could finally venture out of the flat and the city.

Riserva Naturale Regionale Dei Monti Navegna E Cervia

And wandering, at last, through these green and unenclosed places, we noticed, more insistent, more fervent than usual, the calls of birds – nightingales, cuckoos, chiff chaffs, chaffinches, blackcaps, blackbirds, wrens, warblers, woodpeckers – all asserting their claim to the pastures and trees that had been left to flourish, undisturbed and unpolluted, for so long.

The birds came closer to home. A great spotted woodpecker performed acrobatics in the tree outside our kitchen window. A young hooded crow, thirsty and exhausted from flying the nest, sat eyeing me outside my bedroom door, until I gave it water and a gentle lift up onto the wall. While I taught lessons online, a pair of collared doves cooed at me from the roof of the balcony.

Great spotted woodpecker – Dendrocopos major

The closest encounter came on a drive in the north of Lazio. Another tired juvenile not long out of the nest, this time a green woodpecker, flopping and flapping by the side of the road. I scooped it up and placed it out of harm’s way. I held, for a moment, a jewel – intricate detail, emerald glow – in my hands.

Green is the colour of hope. It’s where we go to find ourselves, away from the hurly burly. It is shelter and food and life for the creatures we share the world with. Green was given a chance to flourish this year. I hope we will find a way to let that continue.

Nature rarer uses yellow

Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets,—
Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover’s words.

Emily Dickinson

The end of June, and our first big escape from the city (and our apartment) after more than three months of lockdown. We still have to stay in Lazio – borders have not yet opened. But constraint leads to discovery: an area in the north east of the region that feels more Italian alps than urban periphery.

Less than an hour and a half’s drive, and you will find yourself motoring alongside Lago Del Turano. An artificial lake of stunning aquamarine. There are fields and beaches where you can sit and sun yourself, or paddle and swim in the water.

Keep driving and you’ll get to Riserva Naturale Monte Navegna e Monte Cervia. This is our objective: a long walk up a big hill. Unlike many nature reserves in and around Lazio, where your chosen path will often disappear after half an hour’s walk, here there are red and white signposts everywhere. We choose trail 331, which leads us up and up and up, through beech woods and along stony tracks on grassy slopes.

At the top we are rewarded with views over the lake below, and (unlike Emily Dickinson’s poem) an abundance of yellow. The ginestra, or broom, is out and cascades down the slopes, sweetly scenting the air. Wildflowers dot the grass. The sunlight pools around us.

The descent is a challenge for tired legs, but it’s quick at least. We reward ourselves with a drink by the edge of Lago Del Salto, Turano’s twin on the other side of the hill.

The next morning we visit Castel di Tora, an attractive hilltop town nearby. The walk up to the piazza is worth it for the views, and the coffee taken next to a splashing fountain. Down again to the lake, to lie in the shade of a tree before lunch with a view. And it’s only an hour back to Rome and home in the afternoon.