A short Italian story

The couple moved down the meandering stairs toward the empty train station. The sun was strong and bright with just enough wind to carry the blossoms’ fragrance intermittently on the breeze.

The Med— mostly flat, sparkled. There hadn't been waves here in several weeks, since the last big storm washed out the trail from Riomaggiore to Manorola.

The loudspeaker crackled to life with some important announcement, but in this place, nothing was really that urgent.

5 minutes now, before the train arrived. The day crept along in slow vignettes. Church bells rang in the square. Chickens, proud of their work, announced their most recent accomplishment.

The man laid his head back in the woman's lap. He was asleep in a minute and his dreams were full of sun, trains, long dinners and nice wines.

Jolted awake as the train whistle sounded and the train crawled into the station, the man thought the dream hadn't happened. Then he saw the shore, felt the sun and heard the church bells.

This was no dream.

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