“Quante cose in quella camera! Ogni giorno in esplorazione in quell’universo, dove niente è indifferente, tutto ha valore, un uomo o una mosca; tutto vive egualmente: il gatto, il fuoco, la tavola, i granelli di polvere che danzano in un raggio di sole. La camera è un paese; un giorno è una vita.”
Romain Rolland
(Jean -Christophe)
Questo frammento dal romanzo di Rolland mi riporta a un vecchio foglio scolastico, rubato a mio figlio, che già da piccolo scriveva in Inglese:
“It was December and it was snowing gently outside; I was looking through the window, it was so dark outside, only the weak light of the light bulbs reflected on the snow, it covered everything and the trees were bended under that weight. On the ground were footprints of people running towards their houses slowly covered, and the smoke from the chimney pot flowed towards the sky. Far from me I could see the Christmas stars shining in the darkness, on the balconies the wind was blowing continuously. The Christmas stars seemed to be the only thing which would survive outside. This silence only broken by the wind infused an incredible tranquillity over me, and I felt protected. I could see the snow falling down, but the snow couldn’t touch me, I could ear the wind storm, but I wasn’t cold.”
