By Andrea Gamba
19 Jun 2012
It would be rainfall on a stone when thinking the abyss of the lost chances or wrong choices undertaken the last few decades. This angriness broke the damp recently, but the water stood still in its nest: quite and still as the monotony made the water insensible and afraid of any change. Opposite of it a desert lies arid on an earth which has known prosperity and curiosity for every event. No more trees, no more ears to listen the loud roaring.
Still, sometime in the past that built lake used to be known as vivaciously ferocious when unleashed. The water stroked the barriers several times and the river was flowing ravenously along its riverbed, eating everything on its path. It was strong and firmly imperious in its streaming. It also could leave mouths shut and ears well disposed to hear the impetuous choir of millions drops by which it was made of. Those numerous fragments were experiences that it gathered patently but restlessly for years and then released when nature was pulling the trigger. Those trees, which have assisted at this spectacle, were standing petrified when earth quake and crumble at the water passage. A waterfall of words and names, places and colors melted together in a neurotic and loud soup.
What happened to those days and what to the trees at the feet of the damp? Have they slowly disappeared as the river canceled once for all their earth or they moved on to follow another waterfall?
The land is now silent and the water stills quietly and patiently for a thunder.