February at Poggio: The Quiet Beginning

February at Poggio moves slowly.
The garden may look still, but it isn’t asleep.

It’s the mimosa and the almond tree that move first, quietly giving winter away. The mimosa brightens with a soft, almost weightless yellow—like a promise. The almond tree prepares its blossoms with a kind of silent courage, when the air is still cold and the mornings still carry frost.

And then, almost unnoticed, the buds of cherry and apricot trees begin to loosen and open. It’s a time of waiting, of small daily gestures, of listening. A season when it seems as if nothing is happening—yet beneath the surface, everything has already begun.

February is not a spectacular month.
It’s a month that asks for attention.

Days pass with slow walks, watching how the light changes over the fields, noticing what has endured the winter and what is preparing to return. It’s a season that teaches patience, and reminds us that growth doesn’t need noise to be real.

In this suspended time, there is room for caring for the house, too. For us, fire is still a necessary element—not only to warm the rooms, but to warm the soul. A glass of wine with friends by the fireplace, perhaps with a bruschetta drizzled with the new olive oil, tastes different in winter.

That is why the chimney sweep matters.

Every year, there comes a day when two men—dressed in grey and black—knock at the door carrying a vacuum and long rods. An ancient ritual, part of the ordinary maintenance of a house still lived in the old way. Beyond the technology that brings us back to the present, their gestures are the same as they’ve always been: steady, patient, and quiet.

In the imagination, soot seems like it will cover everything. In reality, everything happens with complete cleanliness. And when we light the fireplaces again, the flames seem to shine a little brighter.

This is February at Poggio, too: taking care of what warms, protects, and holds things together.
Without noise. Without haste.