I see them since I came here three months now.
I know there are causing me, make me itchy hands, would be written, but so far I have portrayed.
Speaking of swallows seem a contradiction in the world. An act of wanton lightly in a heavy time. I need an inner determination to do so, a year of temporary liberation from the daily burdens. Speaking of swallows
is to admit the need for poetry and the desire for heaven, not sanctified, but live profanely, that focuses on the cornices of the buildings, and oxygenates them.
Maybe I would have never embarked on this thought uncomfortable if here were not so insistent.
I've kept an eye on every day, every day and I thought it was the last one: the thought of Springtime and instead continued to see them even with sandals on.
It 'hard to ignore as much as it is difficult to stop in the middle of the street and raise his eyes to look at them.
It feels a bit 'idiots to stay up-to-head, blocking the pass, forget the direction on the pavement and replace it with the sky.
I followed the tracks in recent months, in a mock distracted, so as to identify different attitudes and favorable schedule. During the day
are sporadic, solitary, but they become symphony in the hours of the border, those transition between dream and waking, between light and dark, and vice versa, then
Each site determines the trajectories: the view over the city, but some way out its design in a net. Come on
Leuca, for example, jump perpendicular to the road, with a roof to the front, go fast, speak the language of the current draw with the black feathers and the shrill voice something that escapes me, but I perceive as vital choral excitement, a fast-paced and precise, sharp strokes, elementary, like a charcoal on white paper.
In the alleys that branch off from Piazza Sant'Oronzo are more bold: they literally dive in from the square with the constrictions of the roofs to secure and bold, as a group, if they knew every little corner of a crumbling, peeling plaster each, as if they had the exact measurements of the lines of the buildings, a sort of common consciousness in the frenzy of movement.
But the real fun is to observe them from the rooftops, balconies in those in the open, like mine, which the city is full. Here are free from the constraints of the buildings, only obstacles, ignored, antennas. It dives steeply to almost touch the head. It can clearly feel the gust silver, sharp, sudden, a roar of wings in unison, which is repeated several times. Every time someone in the ascent from the group is to build some other 'more there. They are black waves, unpredictable, curved lines, fast changes in altitude.
"What do you think? Why move it? "
" In my playing. "
As I write, with my trusty pastis in the glass, I feel the arrival of a windy trail: a crock of mixed blood of three kids on one bike, one lying in the middle, between the other two. Needless
do not ask how or where they are going to fall.
They fill the stage, darting into the alley sang "I feel good, na na na na na na na ....".
play.
Books read since I
south ... "Wind strong amongst Macedonia and Candle, exercises paesologia "Franco Arminio (up to pag.76).
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