In Italy, time isn't chased—it's shared. The tagliere, a rustic wooden board laden with simple abundance, invites you to slow down, one bite at a time.
The afternoon air after a day of climbing feels sharpened by pine and rain, a clarity that seems to scrub the world clean with every breath.
The mountains rise like ancient sentinels, huge and patient, and I feel like an ant beneath them—smaller, yes, but suddenly more awake. Stones crackle softly underfoot, a quiet metronome keeping time with our steady descent back toward civilization. The air tastes of resin and wind, and somewhere beyond the jagged rims of the peaks, the winding road still waits to carry us home.
We find a tavern tucked into the mountainside just as the light begins to tilt toward golden hour. The door sighs open, and the first scent to greet us isn’t bread or cheese but cold-pressed olive oil—peppery, bright, almost startling in its intensity. “Let’s sit,” I say, and we do, the worn wooden table gathering us in like old friends.
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https://exegi.substack.com/p/tagliere-the-mountains-shared-board
