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It was painted red

18/12/2014

 
Picture
L’alba colora di freddo il rosso dell’aria. Il 737-800 scivola leggero ed agile lasciando scie di condensazione dietro di se, il suo muso di gatto filtra sicuro nella rarefatta atmosfera a qualche chilometro dal suolo. Va incontro al nuovo giorno, anticipandone il respiro e il fremito.
Ascolta leggero il colore del sole e carezza l’alba rossa di vita e sogni. Ancora appesa alla notte sembra dondolare incerta se svegliarsi al nuovo giorno e regalare i colori che porta ancora in grembo, gelosa della loro bellezza ed eleganza.
Scivolando delicata sulle ali dell’aria ancora fredda si contorna di suoni limpidi di un mondo ancora eguale a se stesso eppure ogni volta riscoperto. Carezzando dolcemente la terra ancora umida dalla rugiada della notte con il solo tocco della sua magia porta un nuovo fiore ad illuminare il giardino del mondo.
Si concede leggera alla nostra vista, ai nostri occhi ogni volta incerti se tanta bellezza sia vera o solo illusione, miraggio di ciò che veramente si vorrebbe avere. Pochi minuti, brevissima apparizione, tocco appena accennato, sussurro e no grido, passo leggero, fruscio.
Questa è la tua forza. Sai accennare e far intuire, sai invitare e far sperare.
Questa è la tua forza. Inizio e fine in pochi minuti, transizione tra i due opposti e miscela variopinta di entrambi, contrasti a definire l’essenza e la ragione. Ciascuno vive perché l’altro vive ed il tramite ne è il cordone ombelicale, il legame più profondo e certo.
Non ho fretta di incontrare la luce aperta del nuovo giorno.
”It’s the best moment” . The hostess turn to me. After a while, I recognize it was for me. “You’re right:this is the best moment indeed, and each time it’s different” I said looking thorough the glass.
She nodded.
She smiled taking a deep breath still watching the scene outside, her eyes still merged with the colors in the sky.
“A couple of days ago I was flying over Inverness, Scotland. Mountains were covered with snow, and the snow was painted red”.

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    Author

    ​Stories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk.  Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience.  A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths. ​

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  • Home
  • The Blogs
    • The sapphire blog
    • The crimson blog
    • The emerald blog
    • Wordpress space
  • Stories
    • TanzanEyes
    • The Masai girl
    • Rwanda
    • 3 Years later
    • India
  • Patterns of life
    • Schwetzingen
    • Silver in the morning
    • The other city
    • HumanNotHuman
    • Fading out
    • Those foggy days
    • StreetNoise
    • As the night gently talks
    • Assisi in Black and White
    • Praising the absence
    • Caesura
    • Convolution
    • Linee e forme
    • Be like water
    • Impulses
    • Fuori luogo
  • People
    • Juliet
    • Street portraits
  • About