Issues
I. Primavera
READING TIME 2
Like every beginning, and like every morning spent at my grandparents' house, the day starts with a breeze slipping through the half-drawn blinds. The air moves, filtering through the cracks, gliding over the sheets. It carries with it the sounds of the house waking up: Grandpa returns with the newspaper, Grandma is tidying something in the kitchen. I too let myself be carried by this movement, sliding out of bed, making my way to the kitchen, hands around a cup that trembles under the whisk of milk and cocoa. A subtle sound, like a thread being stretched.
Then, La Passeggiata. Dina takes her little handbag, quickly counts the coins in her hand. The other hand grips mine, and we step outside. The gate opens, and we leave behind Grandpa, the garden, the vegetable patch. Ahead of us, the path unwinds, a way we follow without thinking, step by step. Monte Guglielmo rises in the distance, the Madonnina watches over us from the street corner: a nod, a kiss thrown into the air.
The lake stretches before us, a surface that breathes. The mountains dive into it, reflecting and distorting with the movement of the water. We too leave a mark, our passage shaping the landscape. Every walk is a tangle of gestures and glances, a story written with our feet.
It’s time to go back! The sun is still high, but the clouds from the valley move slowly. The air shifts.
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