I can not deny being sad and worried about what's happening in the world. But I think I understand the turn that is taking this blog: it is an inventory of the fragrance of my happy moments. So no, I will not go, I think we both said too much, any comment would be useless. Friends who are there know that I think of them as well as do those who unfortunately can not go there.
I look out the window seems to have arrived in the spring. We hope that this time it is again a fake. I prepare to spring for a new city to pursue the delicate colors of the flowers on the trees, the ones that look every year.
Today is the feast dad and I made the salad to eat strawberries with whipped cream, strawberries are the first of the year.
I have strange memories linked to strawberries, memories that seem distant and po'sbiaditi, light, naive. Beautiful things short, fresh and tastes good.
I wanted to publish a beautiful poem by Neruda I do not think I will, maybe in the future there will be a more appropriate time than this. So I leave you this way, always looking out my window.
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