"I am the mountains, the ocean, and the hills of this land. If [they] are the people, I am the land. So it shall be, as it has been; this earth of mine."
...
When the weather permitted, she would go out on one of her smaller boats, and paint the nearby beaches. The local fishermen were quite familiar with breezy white sundresses and wide rimed hats abound. They knew her as the quiet, wealthy yet humble Sicilian woman from the overlooking cliff side villa, golden like the sun, with overflowing vines of tropical colors and a luscious fruit bearing trees climbing every which way.
Without a doubt, painting eased her mind, and the gentle waves of the ocean calmed her spirit. The crystal clear waters and the open sea reminded her of the old, archaic days when she was but a child, curious and full of such naïveté, her heart just as open. Sometimes, when the mornings promised bright, sun speckled days, she would swim to the islands across the way, just like the sea turtles, like the currents, like the sky. Back then, the people of the islands were familiar with her status, with her longevity, but also as the wild girl, with long dark curls and bright olive eyes, who ran across the beaches like the Arabians of the south, and swam with the mightiest of creatures. Ocean child, wild girl of the hills, tiny caldera daughter; names she cherished, and names she lived. Of the earth she rose, of the hills she awoke, of the ocean she thrived.
But that was then.
As she strokes her canvas, as the boat rocks with the gentle waves, the wind in her hair, she realizes how fortunate she was, to have embraced those moments of freedom with all her heart. Nowadays, with these boundaries and laws and rules, there is a limit to freedom. To exposure, to choice and to independence; even with her status as the Lady Italia, Miss Romana, she is limited. Veneziano and Romano, her dynamic male counterparts; they took freedom for granted. They, of course, were younger than her, so maybe it was a factor with age. Yet they still had experienced many the same terrors she herself had, so perhaps it was ignorance. She had only heard of the brothers in short passing with the Prime Minister; often there was never much to elaborate.
…
Did Valentina ever experience these blessings, as a child? The nation woman prayed that yes, her dear sister had been fortune enough to live those freedoms and liberties of a wild girl of the hills.
…
Later, as she ascends the stone steps to her veranda, the evening sun lighting her kitchen with a brilliant orange, she sets her painting upon the table, and finally sees her work: a small nude girl, herself so long ago, beneath the clear waters, surrounded by the tender sea turtles of the islands. Clear blues, gentle greens, and the brilliant pinks within the sky, as if it was a dream. The woman's lips upturn, a rare show of teeth, before leaving the canvas to dry.