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This age


At this age it is in perpetual flight
staring under him,
to watch the world moves broken steps. At this


awareness declines in happiness.
At this age it is true.
At this age, you recognize.
At this age we live.

At this age, only at this age, it is poetry.

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The greatest discovery

About two months ago.
a stroke.
Then another.
My father is seventy-four, blue eyes and a great soul.
My father is fine now, thankfully!
I "suffered" these events with unexpected ease: worried but calm.
I thought that nature was doing its work and that nothing would have been for childish attempts to reject the event, relentlessly by opposing the inevitable: I dived into the river and I got carried away, "adhering" to the situation and striving to live intensely.
And then I discovered something never before seen in his forty now.
I saw my father mention a cry of despair (never happened before, not even the death of his parents) and close to the heart led me to a greater closeness to him.
With the right side completely blocked for the first few days completely dependent on me, the only son.
A cord made of heavy trade, encouragement of mutual smiles, tradottesi in all situations be a force to each other, convinced that we would have won the battle. And so it was.
But what moved me (almost to upset) was a close contact.
Unable to shave the beard I have repeatedly made.
A sunny morning at his home, just finished a hot bath ... I approached her face to his intention to raze it and being careful not to hurt him.
Those eyes, deep blue gray veiled by a look of age I gave back everything to me.
My God! I had never seen so closely. My eyes had never crossed her that way. It was my father. I was his son.
I communicated with modesty and a little embarrassment of his gratitude.
But I was grateful to him for that look. And
to chance, because I had allowed him to enjoy it before it was too late.
I love you dad.

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Perfumes

hit and sunk in an instant!

Over the past two days, thanks to the spring looming, I was shaken by two episodes pleasant.

Thursday: the waterfront of Salerno. Ore 18.50.

pleasant walk between budding athletes, families walking, distracted people conversing a little oblivious to what is happening around. Suddenly, a strong scent of flowers pittosporum strikes my senses and opens the soul to the memories of the night armed guards in an intense spring of twenty years ago. Immense joy to the next emotion.

morning: walking the town. 11.30.

The city on Sunday morning, sparse flows and diluted in the air of joyous celebration, takes me to a coffee and keeps me company in the stroll aimlessly produced by personal escape from asphyxia. It 'nice to walk and are basically a little distracted, too. Suddenly, a strong smell of broom sweeps me and lifts me up to the extreme serenity.

I feel I have a little orphan this morning, but happy, happy because the air around me greets me and makes me cuddles.

I really needed it.

And maybe I'll put on my two small terraces planting in memory of this season: a broom and a hedge of pittosporum.

But the smell will go well this time shared with anyone. Or not?

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many things ... Coherence

missing from my blog for more than two months: how was it possible?
I have no desire to communicate.
I'm not saying that my life has been so flat that it hardly had anything to say, but I did not intentionally want to write though it often has thoughtful posts.
My post "unspoken", in truth, have been translated into daily contact poetic and exclusive love shared with the person I love.
was thinking this afternoon about his desire to go back to writing: in doing so I realized that perhaps at the end I had no desire to listen to the deepest part of me, in a vain attempt to silence my most intimate emotions.
And just in time to say that the silence of those things have happened (good and bad), but tell little at a time in later posts.
For now I just re-contact with the depths of my soul, the great absence of recent times, just because they recently sent me clear signals.
And the need to give her voice a tear from my understanding, the same a few days (and some nights) bothers me as a reckless my pretty face:-P!