One Sunday morning like many others, a walk towards Testaccio, a district of Rome,
I usually look at the river Tiber, the buildings, catching some detail that has escaped over the years. Today, however, my attention is caught by the sky where the clouds are forming. And they are the protagonists of this morning, I look at them enraptured thinking that they are poetic embellishments that nature offers us. Thes cloud come slowly, silently, scattered in groups or solitary
Oh yes, because clouds are free creatures, examples of freedom, they do not follow pre-established routes, they cannot be tamed, they go who knows where... they pass... they do not have pre-established routes, they are migratory... sometimes threatening, low and almost frightening.
And the poem by the great poet Alda Merini comes to mind.
They come and go
every now and then they stop
and when they stop they are as black as the crow.
Sometimes they are white and run
and take the form of a heron
or a sheep or some other beast.
But this is best seen by the children
who play at running after them for many yards.
Sometimes they warn you with noise
before they arrive
and the earth shakes
and the animals shut up.
Sometimes they warn you with noise....
They come, they go, they return
and maybe they stay so many days
that you no longer see the sun and the stars.
and you feel like you don't know where you are anymore.
They come, they go
for a real thousand are fake
and they stand there,
between us and the sky,
leaving us only a longing for rain.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)