Attending, from your balcony, the roar dense, airy and clean for a time you expand your mind. Because everything is so still and compact - the white of the sky and lush green foliage and lawns - and yet so excited and propped up by the rain. You open up your thoughts, then, but the breaths - fresh, nose and lungs - and eyes - hypnotized by the water that remains invisible in contrast with the sky, and then take filamentous forms when the fans from background the nearest trees or some faded building in the distance.
swell the meadows - the drops - leaves glide and bounce off the long, dark wood of the branches, make it shiny asphalt, remain outstanding on the needle tips pine as the heads of many matches. And if you do not know the sound of the water is the breath of heaven or earth, or maybe it's damp and cool meeting of two breaths. Like a kiss.
I do not want to miss any of it, that thanks to his fake-repetitive challenges you to seize the moment different, but at the same time making you realize that comforts you - after all - you can not and will never be able to grasp everything that is often the case, for you to choose a certain number of drops: up to you to follow with the eyes or ignore them and let them fall on deaf ears, thinking that there will be others better. But when you have so many drops similar to each other, look for the best drops may keep you sitting for ever to watch a time that is more in you than in front of you. And the filaments of water become the bars of your cage. I would like to speak
let the storm, put the notebook in the rain and wait for him to fill these pages with its transparent ink. Probably the words dissolve, pulirebbe the paper as it does with the air and the colors.
Maybe that's the message of the storm.
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