My next stage is my sweet Italy, a lost hill in Veneto, in the woods of the province of Vicenza. And there, in a small church, there's a priest, Angelo. There are 235 steps to climb to get there, but in the climb the effort becomes sweet, the tiredness forgotten. The little church is dedicated to Mary, it's a small and delicate building like the girl of many centuries ago, but it watches over the valley with the strong protection of a mother. Click.
With Angelo I climb to the top of the hill, a very high cross stands out on a large rock from where you can see the whole valley. The Small Dolomites stand out in the clear sky, not caring about their adjective and demonstrating the imposingness that only nature can show. Click. The interior of the church is in gloom, but I breath warmth and intimacy, it almost seems that I can touch the hands of God. Angelo sits next to me on a bench consumed by a thousand caresses, he grabs my hand and prays with me. Click.
Hot tears trickle from my eyes because this is the end of my journey. I'm ninety years old and I'm too tired to continue, I feel it, the light is going out, I smile. Click. Angelo lays my young ladies, my lovers, in my hands, this is goodbye my dears. I have spent my whole life loving you, it's obvious that I'll miss you. Can you give me one last waltz before the eternity?
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Short StoryGlimpses of life in prose and photography. A man looks at the world through photographs, collected by those who live in the world, he understands these people through the looks that they imprint on the film, he understands himself through the sensat...
