In the impossibly bright days of early April, all superlatives felt meaningless against the glory of early Spring on the Coastline. Energizing and exhilarating, the perfection and beauty of the Amalfi Coast had me awestruck even after twenty four years here.
My days would begin drowsily, the shutters thrown open to the early morning so as to not miss one second of the sea view from my room. My husband would spoil me with breakfast in bed with the orange marmalade I’d made in February and small delectable slices of homemade Easter Pastiera or pieces of chocolate egg.
Slowly I’d breathe in the drifting perfume from the wisteria over our pergola mixed with the sweet scent of orange and lemon blossom and listen to the gentle waves lapping the shore.
I counted my blessing because not only was I lucky enough to be here in my favorite time of the year but strolling through town was an immense pleasure. The weather was perfect, I didn’t risk being run over by a jettison of cars and buses, and the piazza at the base of town was still trickling tourists rather than pouring them.
But best of all, I’ d caught Positano at it’s height of the wisteria season.
From top to toe, the town was festooned in swags of purple blossom. The pastel, white and ochre buildings were draped elegantly across terraces and balustrades and their dripping blooms would pour enticingly through the rustic pergolas.
Ancient trunks wove from who–knows-where in the tiny alleyways, to creep across shop faces and apartments.
All the way down to the beach, shaded walks would draw the eye skyward, and the colors would rival with the clear blue skies and the yellow of the lemons.
It felt like paradise. It was paradise. I could tell…