It is in difficult moments that it becomes difficult to put on any mask, built over the years not always to defend oneself but often to appear what one wanted to believe. Invincible, sometimes proud and sometimes too greedy to achieve everything even with force, blackmail or with exuberant superiority. The little consideration given to the natural world that hosts us now makes us almost useless to the world itself. And it is she, nature, who is observing us right now and watches over our future, does not judge and confidently awaits an answer.
It is spring that writes:
"It's the scent of transformation before the eye can grasp the mutations, because you man don't want to see, but change and spring is in the air. It is something more than the light that you can no longer perceive, but a warm day. It is a sort of presence, which can be perceived, of many little things that had lost value for you, such as: the rich and fertile scent of dry leaves and rotten sticks in the woods; the distinct smell of muddy stream water; the steamy exhalations of the wet stones; the moist, almost green aroma of musk, the resinous fragrance of poplar and willow buds ready to bloom. It's the first hint of life that is awakening, thinner than the fog you dropped without asking us.
Life, the miracle of life itself that we have always preserved, now presses against the dark walls of your prison, stretched towards the light. Who would have thought that spring would come for us too, flowers and willow twigs, until yesterday frozen and trembling like bare bones under the gusts of human arrogance. Here now you can see, from your window, a marvel of colors: freshly bloomed leaves, still soft like a baby's skin, with shades of pink, blue, lavender, yellow, gold. And the silence is over. You hear the sounds of new life that soon the wind that carried our dreams away. The birds started singing again, not yet in chorus, but as if in a dress rehearsal. And soon you will be able to listen to the music of migrants, the true virtuosos. Even the chorus of insects you will be able to hear because it increases day by day. And in some places where the concrete had covered the grass, among the cracks the frogs croak again, emerging from deep hibernation, praising the resurrection of life. The call of the wild geese gives wings to the imagination. Maybe just by chance the goose provided the feather for the arrow and the pen for the poet. They represent the desire is the dream, the adventure and the surprise.
For a few weeks you will barely be able to follow the rhythm of transformation, ours, that of nature: it pervades everything. His subtle transformations will alternate daily adding new verses to the poems written on the hillside, in the meadows and along the river bank; poems as old as time but presented every future day in a revised and corrected edition.
Nature lights up with a thousand colors, the almond blossoms and the now sick old world seeks comfort in me. I don't hold a grudge, I have no hatred, know that I still have enough love to cure all your ills if you know how to listen to me." Spring
Cover image: Almond Blossom Branch (1890) by Vincent Van Gogh
