Lago d’Orta, Piemonte

A golden afternoon, light shimmering on the water.
Our post-prandial stroll arrested by the view -
A line of pontoons staple the lake to the shore,
Ancient forested mountains loom vertiginously,
And patches of terracotta dwellings
Huddle round tall bell towers.

You swim, I watch.
Easing your way from the warm shallows to deeper water,
Your pale skin stark against the inky green depths.
With a flick of your legs you dive underneath,
Bubbles wobble to the surface and break.
Later, stretched out to dry, droplets from your hair spot the sun-bleached wood.

That day, on the shore of the Lago d'Orta,
We were held by the warmth of the sun,
Soothed by the rhythmic slap of gentle waves,
Mesmerised by the movement of light on water.
It was still and calm,
We were restored.