[Poetry] may make us from time to time a little aware of the deeper unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves. T.S.Eliot
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Monday, September 26, 2016
The night before
Last Friday night in Saronno. After a long and extenuating working day, gone scrubbing and painting walls, unmounting, packing and heaping the few things left in the old apartment, my brother and me went out for something to eat and a short walk. Pizza at Pontello was really tasteful, as usual. So the ice cream we took not far from the city's main church. If it wasn't for the crowd standing in front of the Mondadori bookshop, few minutes before midnight, we would had already been sleeping in our bed. But it was the Harry Potter's night, and we decided to wait sitting on a bench until the church's bell rang the new day and grab a copy of the latest adventure of my children favorite fantasy character.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
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