In that day, for the first time in my life, I did not go to my work to avoid snow chaos.
Winter ice freezes any trees’ shade
covering with thick and clotted frost fog
every branch, every trunk and this landscape.
In my heart I feel that rime and hoarfrost
Where are beautiful mountains’ white ghosts
which adorned my strange and flat sea:
the Po Plain waiting quiet for green life
dreaming any sap turgor of March?
Snow is now only an accident, chaos
really not virgin whiteness, it’s hitch
and I live into thoughts of old childs.
Lazy rest in the warmth of my bed.
Frebruary, 1st 2019
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