The shepherds
"September, let’s go. It’s time to migrate.
Now in the land of Abruzzi my shepherds
leave the folds and go towards the sea:
they go down to the wild Adriatic
that is green like mountain pastures.
They’ve drunk deeply from the Alpine fonts,
so that the taste of their native water may stay
in their exiled hearts for comfort,
to deceive their thirst along the way.
They’ve renewed their hazelnut sticks.
And they go along the ancient bridleway,
that is almost like a silent grassy river,
in the traces of the ancient ancestors.
Oh voice of the one who first
discerns the shimmering of the sea!
Now along this coast moves
la greggia. the flock. Without movement is the air.
The sun bleaches the living wool
so that it almost blends into the sand.
Swishing, stamping, sweet sounds.
Ah, why am I not with my shepherds?"
Gabriele D’Annunzio