Sciacca, April 22
The road from
Castelvetrano ran all the time over
gravel hills and was devoid of
mineralogical interest. When it reached the seashore, we could see a few limestone cliffs. The whole plain is immensely fertile; the oats and barley were in excellent condition, salsola kali had been planted, the fruit stalks of the aloes were higher than those we saw during the past
two days, and the various clovers never left us.
We came to a copse – mostly bushes, but with a tree rising here and there. And then, at last, cork-trees.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Italian Journey (1786-1788), translated by W.H. Auden and Elizabeth Mayer, New York, Pantheon Press, 1962.
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