back from a week in Rome, returned from rain, calm, clouds, the gray-green of the Tiber, Tiber Island cormorants, massage and rose petals, laughter and endless walks, food becomes a constant background of the monument and another.
cake, nuts Babington, the cantantessa in the elevator, the woman from the 4th floor complaining of my hand felted and the courage of the whole group to hear hidden beneath the covers who, who's behind the door.
A pin with an owl, clothes, cous cous and green beans, new people and friends found, smoked cheese and honey to avoid.
with chestnut ice cream and my new best friend , new perspectives, new hopes.
and mud, mud, more mud in Italy during the Middle Ages intelluale coscenziale and where to return the serfs. And where you want to go through violent and riotous contests waving white sheets and screaming to the disgrace of the institutions which should be ethically Illibatissime and mirrored glass.
And that moral cleanliness are the young people to ask us that perhaps we are not more big babies and they call us and we do not have room to raise their heads and have the dignity of our path and our effort because we are not allowed.
So then you think it is all wasted effort, that all these noises, weeping, gnashing of teeth that was useless. And
are plentiful, but much more satisfying to create handbags, take refuge in the world nell'immaginifico of colorful fabrics and lace trimmings.
And who knows maybe one day that dream, Catania, Rome, Perugia - not necessarily in that order - you can not come true.
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