I am reclining on a sun chair, paperback in hand, as two kittens sleep curled up in the hollowed trunk of an olive tree next to me. Italian children take turns jumping in the pool. Uno, due, tre! Two people help an older relative out of his wheelchair and into the shallow end. A smile stretches across his face as the cool water meets his body. 

My freshly minted husband has just gone to fetch a load of whites from the communal washer. This morning, we spread runny burrata on thick sourdough as butterflies feasted on lavender bushes. At lunch, there will be more burrata, along with plump cherry tomatoes and gilded oil pressed from the very trees on this property, like the one where the gattini sleep. Bliss doesn’t begin to cover it.