Varie
Pensieri sottili
Mi sento come uno sposo che scappato dal ricevimento nuziale, ha raggiunto il torrente alle pendici dei monti per sciacquarsi la bocca nell’acqua fredda.
Infilzo la neve con le dita per fare respirare la terra.
Il sole s’inchina e disegna ombre lunghe come i rami che tiravamo a noi per cogliere le prime ciliegie.
Il timore di udire le grida dell’ aria mi ha sempre fatto accompagnare ogni ramo con gesti precisi.
5 Comments
irazoqui
mio buon amico che temevi di ferire l’aria
utente anonimo
auguri, amico dell’amico– occhio per occhio
(maiko/dirtyinbirdland)
utente anonimo
Urca le coincidenze!
Ho appena cambiato il mio profilo su TMA :(http://www.themodernantiquarian.com/user/9179) . Scegliendo parte del testo di una canzone tradizionale inglese “Spencer the Rover” (so che la conosci perfettamente). Dove si racconta di Spencer quando và (direi simbolicamente) a dissetarsi ad una sorgente ai piedi di una montagna e trova quell’acqua più preziosa dell’oro che ha dissipato e più dolce del miele. Guarda, mi vengono i brividi, è tale e quale alle parole da te usate…connessioni invisibili?
tomaso aka LTL
albertoterrile
Conosco Spencer the Rover….evidentemente certe parole vanno a fondo nel pozzo dell’inconscio per poi risalire col “secchio” o “mestolo” quando trovano il giusto umore da sposare!
Ciao Tommy
albertoterrile
SPENCER THE ROVER
These words were composed by Spencer the Rover
Who traveled Great Britain and most parts of Wales
He had been so reduced, which caused great confusion
And that was the reason he went on the roam
In Yorkshire, near Rotherham, he had been on his rambles
Being weary of traveling, he sat down to rest
At the foot of yonder mountain there runs a clear fountain
With bread and cold water he himself did refresh
It tasted more sweeter than the gold he had wasted
More sweeter than honey and gave more content
But the thoughts of his babies, lamenting their father
Brought tears to his eyes which made him lament
The night fast approaching, to the woods he resorted
With woodbine and ivy his bed for to make
There he dreamt about sighing, lamenting and crying
Go home to your family and wandering forsake
On the fifth of november, I’ve a reason to remember
When first he arrived home to his family and wife
They stood so surprised, when first he arrived
To behold such a stranger once more in their sight
His children came around him with their prittle prattling stories
With their prittle prattling stories to drive care away
Now they are united, like birds of one feather
Like bees in one hive, contented they’ll be
So now he is a living in his cottage contented
With woodbine and roses growing all around his door
He’s as happy as those who have thousands of riches
Contented he’ll stay and go a rambling no more