Silent windows on the town.
[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves. T.S.Eliot
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Thursday, March 13, 2014
The River - I
We thought we couldn't waste the first Saturday of sunshine after months of endless rainfalls pushing a trolley and queueing up at the cash of a shopping mall. So we set sails and went out, along the river: not far, nor close, just enough.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
It was there
Spring, slowly comes in, one day after the other, without asking for permission, without notice. One day, sipping your coffe you cast your sight over the wall and realise it was already there, patiently waiting on the shelf of your kitchen.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Petrified
Then, one day you open your eyes again and find yourself petrified behind the glass of a display case in a sort of decaying museum, unable to move or speak, unobserved and unheard. But the worst thing is that you can't explain why it happened and how.
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