I could spend hours at my bedroom window, letting myself be carried away by the splendour of God’s creation.
The view is dominated by the nearby mountains, majestic but gentle, overlooking the city with silent but solid presence. These past few months they have been topped by a sprinkling of snow – an alien and curious substance for me, being used to the mild wet winters of perennially sunny Malta.
But perhaps they are at their most enchanting in the early hours of a balmy winter morning, wreathed in an infinitely soft quilt of clouds gently spilling over the mountain tops and sliding down the slopes, eventually melting away once they meet the warmth of the city.
So that if the mountains are the sculptures of a Master Artist, they are adorned by the strokes of His paintbrush: the romantic nostalgia of the morning clouds, the bold simplicity of a profoundly azure sky, the vibrant vivacity of a gloriously orange sun slowly dipping over the horizon to illuminate the distant snowy Alps and nearby scintillating sea…
And indeed Genoa calls the sea its life-blood, this strange and changeable expanse fading into infinity, a horizon full of promise made more enchanting by the shadowy silhouette of Corsica on clear days. And as the cargo-ships chug alongside the gaily decorated cruise-liners, navigating the narrow spaces of the harbour to finally ride the open sea – sometimes calm and azure, othertimes impishly choppy and turqouise – I cannot help but be reminded of the sea back home which coloured my childhood summers.
And right in the middle of this, cradled by the firm gentleness of the mountains, the infinite colours of the vaulted sky and the soulful sea, lies Genoa – a narrow but long patchwork of buildings radiating out from the harbour and marching slowly up the mountainsides. At night, it becomes a twinkling constellation of lights heralded to sailors far out at sea by the light house which guards the harbour entrance.
Looking at the multitude of tiny lights at night, I cannot help but be reminded of the countless souls that call this city their home. They are all – like the lights – small in comparison to the wonders of creation that surround them, but shine brightly as only true likenesses of God can. As the city is circumscribed by the Artist’s Masterpieces, so its inhabitants – and indeed, all of us – are cradled by the love and Spirit of God, made manifest in the wonders of nature and the reflection of the Infinite Presence that resides in the people around us…and in us.
Turning my gaze away from the macroscopic, shifting briefly to the green parakeets crooning in the branches of the pine and palm trees of the Novitiate garden, I return to the intimacy of my room, rejoicing with childlike delight at the exuberant and creative generosity of His love.
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