Time goes by relentlessly, no matter how hard we try to hold it firmly in our hands. Seasons follow one another, incessantly, and the best we can do is to enjoy and cherish each and everyone of them.
That’s why last autumn I enjoyed walking on the Lungotevere in Rome, from the very weathered Ponte Sant’Angelo to the less weathered, but still very old, Ponte Sisto (in the picture) while the leaves on the trees were changing colors and firing up.
Svegliarsi alla mattina e sentire l’aria fresca mentre ci si toglie il lenzuolo di dosso.
Il chiacchiericcio fitto degli adolescenti che fanno capannello davanti alle porte
dei licei.
Le maniche che si allungano progressivamente, a coprire quanto resta dell’abbronzatura sulle braccia.
Una cicala solitaria, dura a morire, canta solo nelle prime ore del pomeriggio.
Il giallo che si insinua nel paesaggio.
La luna chiede più spazio al sole, la notte al giorno.
La natura è saggia: sa che un po’ deve morire per poter rinascere più forte.
Wake up in the morning and feel the fresh air while you move the bed sheet away.
The dense chatter of teenagers who crowd in before the highschools’ doors.
The sleeves that lengthen gradually to cover the remains of tanning on the arms.
A die hard, lonely cicada only sings in the early afternoon.
The yellow meanders through the landscape.
The moon asks the sun for more space and the same does the night to the day.
Nature is wise: she knows she must die a little to be reborn stronger.
The Growing up Chronicle 