Suddenly I realize that no longer reflects the sunset on the walls of my house.
I look up and the lady withdrew, closed his book, storing it on the windowsill waiting for the new day, closed the blinds, shut the drapes and is wrapped each night as the embrace of your own home.
The crane at the port has stopped to rest tired and looking down, behind her a ferry started to smoke like to warm up muscles before crossing.
I turned the light on my desk.
Modi asks me to go out and Margherita with one eye open waiting for our return: the time for dinner.
some days they do not know the sunsets of winter warm lush colors are strong but just as crisp in the spring, gulls flirt boats will get moving again and the voices of people period, not only hurried steps.
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