Sweeping, Weeping in Sicily

July 12, 2010

The street sweepers here wear suits bright as orange rind and dance with twig brooms.

I see them in the early morning as I stumble across the piazza in the direction of a latte macchiato. They clear the streets of bougainvillea petals and the debris of summer weddings: hearts of confetti, bottles of Asti, handfuls of rice.

Street Sweeper in Sicily with Twig Broom, copyright Jann Huizenga

And every morning I pray, “Please Signor Sweeper, hold tight! Hold fast to those twigs. Don’t go all plasticky on me.”

I want to weep when I see the changes sweeping Sicily, her Americanization: the new shopping malls plunked down among the olives, the SUVs, the McDonald’s in Upper Ragusa (though grazie a Dio the one in nearby Modica went belly-up).

So I savor the twigs. Because someday soon they’ll disappear, never to return.

Twig Broom, Sicily, copyright Jann HuizengaClick to comment.

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