La Traviata

These few days have been rather erratic of late. I smell a change in the air, yet I know not what is heralded. Only the perfunctory smell, the lightness of change hangs in the air. In the mannerisms of those animals, the snorting of the horses and the flight of the birds.

Is it just me? Or is the world changing? No matter as I have been caught up in increasingly outlandish habits, such as listening to operas, particularly Verdi’s La Traviata. They never fail to pull me out of my chair and throw me amidst into their story. And not without regret, I must say.

With La Traviata spinning in the humid afternoon, the ceiling fan whirring softly above, a cup of English tea in hand, listening to Italian opera, life is wonderful.

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