Same place, different moments, and different lights. If before it was night embracing everything with its silence, now everything is waking up as to a new life.
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nature
Light is slowly dying away, and silence is taking over. Only the wind continues to blow lightly, in a delicate game of sounds and choreographies with the surrounding vegetation. A few instants before the darkness of night, I am enchanted by this little corner of Camargue and the beauty of the simplest things.
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…)