Soul of stone
Voiceless presence in the narrow track
At dawn, waiting for the light to gain the scene and give birth to shadows
Shadows to give birth to living, immaterial creatures
Resembling dreams, sometimes nightmares, sometimes visions as ghosts, as mirages.
Whatever they are.
In a misty morning or in the haze of some restless day.
Soaked by the drizzle of a romantic autumn, lost in the fogs of an harsh winter
A place dense of solitude
And rich of life, at the same time
You sensed the former
You breathed the latter
Tense was the air, and filled by voices
Whispering as the wind does
Ancient stories of life
Ancient stories of men and glory
Tiny events, minimal personal notes of so many
Incastonated into the grand canvas of entire populations
Moving, pulsing, swarming, settling down, moving again
Live and survive,
Restless nature of the world
Conquer and search
Restless nature of mankind
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.