Il Nittalope

After various years of having holidays in strange periods (at least strange for Italians) I am finally on holiday during summer. Middle of August is the starting date, and first week of September will be the end. It's quite exciting. Everybody is on holiday in Italy in the summer months, and August is the king of holidays. Shops could be closed, restaurants could be closed. Because being Italy a place where people from other countries would never spend their holidays, the best time of the year for a commercial activity to closed due to holidays is indeed summer, isn't it? Yes, it is. But I am not here to talk about the commercial wisdom of Italians. I am here because what was supposed to be my "in fieri" date just dumped me and I am supposed to wait at least 1 hour more before I can go home. So I have to spend some time. I am outside of a restaurant, on a wooden chair with cushions, crickets are playing their music, the air is a bit chilly (it has been ...

Relaxing in Italy after almost an year passed, still it is not easy. The past is still hunting back, fighting to hold its position in my memory and winning it easily. No one, no one thing, no one thought can send away memories, sensations and feelings that have been part of me for so long. Life is easy. Life changes every day, every moment and any moment is a different one, a different way of facing the sun, feeling the rain on the skin and looking at the moon's shadows. Forgetting is a slow descent in oblivion that never ends, because memories come back, pieces of life past resurface and float in the oceans of everyday happenings. Like the old fisherman who catches only his dreams, memories spring out of the water with a flash of droplets and splash back again in the dark water. Never again will be? Or never again will I forget? Time come and go, seconds went by and became hours, became days and months that separate different experiences and nothing changes, nothing m...