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There is light, there are shadows. There’s a time for thinking over, evaluating, getting ready. A time for waiting, that might seem neverending and useless. But it never is. Because every time, a day comes when you wake up and it’s time for action. For actually seeing yourself doing the very thing you had geared up for for so long. So long without anything happening that you were almost loosing the faith. And there it comes, that day. And when it comes, each and every time, it takes you by surprise. As a flower deciding to bloom on a Tuesday rather than a Saturday, on a morning rather than an afternoon. It might seem by chance but it isn’t and you know it. It’s the result of countless rain drops and sun rays and chains of events, some of which are visible and some will never be known. And it’s utterly amazing, isn’t it? But even more amazing is the fact that on that day everything suddenly appears cristal clear and simple. Oh so very simple. And even though you are scared and you don’t know how you’re going to do it, deep down inside you’re at peace, finally, because you know, once again, that everything is gonna be just fine.
Wishing you a sweet evening friends
There are days when you’re in one of the places you love the most, at the hour that you prefer and with a camera on hand. People pass you by, friends may speak to you but you’re only half there. Your mind eager with anticipation.
And maybe it’s because you know you won’t get more chances for weeks or months, but you just wait for that moment that could – should – be about to happen as the most precious gift.
And if you’re lucky enough for it to happen while you’re right there waiting on the first row, that the Roman light turns that particular shade of gold and slowly paints the water below, the walls, the leaves – you just feel your heart might burst and you’re at a loss for words. There you remember exactly why you so often bother to carry a camera with you. Because one needs a tool to share the world, its light and shadows, whenever words are just not enough.
Sweet evening friends.
« Not all that wander are lost » J.R.R. Tolkien
Venice by night, from above, is a spot in the sea you can barely tell from the sky / it’s a bus crossing a sad plane / pouring rain / sea smell / heart beating faster / eyes stuck to the side window / half-deserted steamboats / a city that appears and disappears / lingering / appealing.
It’s walking on rainy alleys / turning back / going forth / laughing out loud ’cause you’re lost again.
It’s a velvet curtain leading to yellow-earth walls / merry familiar tones that mend your heart / steaming dishes / toasts and joy.
Dozing Venice lets itself be sweetly tasted / silently walked through. It’s the echo of your footsteps / water splashing / the wind on your face / lights sparkling on the other side. It’s a swinging bed / sleep falling over you as if you were a child.
Venice in the early morning is grabbing something to put on and rushing outside. It’s the sea smell / church bells somewhere / wind / clouds rushing by.
It’s your eyes full of wonder / water and sky / sky and water / all around you. It’s walking leisurely / smelling the air / deserted alleys.
It’s crossing a threshold and entering a different dimension / eyes open / lights / shadows / what you feel you don’t need to understand.
Venice is the new and the old / up and down / bridges to cross / water to bless you. It’s an uninterrupted wonder of light and colors.
Venice is this and a thousand things more.
As things change so fast and inevitably, it would be nice, to have a special place where all the memories and flavors and smells of our life which are beginning to fade away would be safely stored. On hand, for whenever we feel the need.
The emotions raging when we were teens wanting to change the world, with headphones hanging from our neck, hours spent on our secret diary or chatting on the phone as if our lives depended on it. Or, further back, the laughters of the afternoon parties to which our mama took us, the special taste of the confectionary sugar we would steal from a cake with a finger, and the magic of the summer days where our games continued uninterrupted. Then, farther still, our baby cries, the smell of the body lotion after the afternoon bath or the plastic spoon that fed us with our first vegetables. Right until the blurred image of our parents as we met their eyes for the first time.
I’m lucky to have at least one such special place still in my life. A house with white walls near the sea I go and visit at least twice a year, almost like on a pilgrimage. It has hosted not only 3 generations of children and the birth of a few family members. Time has taken its toll on it too, of course. But, if i choose the right drawers and cupboards, time stands still. The tiny delights above belong to my grand-grand-mother whom I never met.