The alarm clock goes off at 6:00 am. It’s still dark, but not completely: stars are less bright, and the shade of blue in the sky is becoming lighter. The air is crisp, and brings the birds’ hymns to dawn. (altro…)
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flowers
One of my favorite poems ends with this verse: if Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?*
We’re quite far from the Romantic age, but that desire for renewal that Shelley invokes, though much more personal and less activist, sprouts again along with the hints of green of the first leaves and the blossoming of flowers. (altro…)
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