[…]Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed![…]
Percy Bysshe Shelley – da “Ode to the West Wind”
C’era la foglia. L’ultima. Come un segnale, come un ammonimento, come una bandiera, come un’indicazione, come un richiamo, come un avvertimento, come un vessillo, come un appello, come una traccia, come un segno, come un monito, come un simbolo, come un annuncio, come un presagio, come una minaccia, come una voce. L’ultima. Poi si staccò. Nel nulla dell’aria tracciò un volo leggero e scomposto, un attimo dopo si era già unita al silenzio della terra. Cosa era?
There was the leaf. The last one. As a signal, as a warning, as a flag, as an indication, as a reminder, as an intimidation, as a banner, as an appeal, as a trace, as a sign, as an alert, as a symbol, as an ad, as an omen, as a threat, as a voice. The last one voice. Then it broke away. Into the nothing of the air it drew a light and haphazard flight, after a while it was already joining the silence of the land. What it was?
