I stand on the slopes above the Basilica of San Francesco in Assisi. From the steep street that stretches from the church up into the town, I look out over the fields. It is mid-August. The soil is brown. Everything is thirsty.
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I stand on the slopes above the Basilica of San Francesco in Assisi. From the steep street that stretches from the church up into the town, I look out over the fields. It is mid-August. The soil is brown. Everything is thirsty.