Home, soil, rain (it’s cold outside)


Baby it’s cold outside. This words comes into my mind while I’m thinking about the caption of the photo I’ve just taken. I’m walking in the park and the first evidence is that it’s deep winter, all around me.

Things are now what they seems. 

I think about the fact that in some secret places, under the soil, spring is patiently preparing, waiting for the right time to come. There is some secret movements I cannot detect, there are some secret worlds waiting for them to show. 

At the right time. 

Everything comes at the right time. I can’t hurry anything: it’s useless. I just have to wait. Even love can’t be hurried (as the Supremes declared since the glorious sixties…)

This is worth for me to be thought, again and again.

Yes, because my spontaneous  attitude is to hurry, to try to force things to happen: those things I desire, those things I want. Those things I decide I’m in need of. It’s funny, but whenever I do accept this simple law – namely, that I have to wait – in this very moment I can experience a state of tranquillity, I begin entering in a wonderful realm of calm. 

I can relax only if I realize that things keeps happening in my life, even if sometimes I feel as I walked in a deep winter scenario. Even in those moment in which I feel like someone running under heavy rain, striving to be at home.

Changes are preparing, opportunities will spring.  At the right time.

Things do happen: and the more you let it flow, the more they happen. 

So the lesson is simple (which does not means easy, you know): just relax, get rid of this crazy attempt to control everything, and let the world act for you.  

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Free Association.”

Evidence of autumn

There is something magical in the arrival of the autumn. Something magical that happens again, every year. Something that I’ll eagerly wait, as soon as I come back from vacations. Autumn bring its presents, to everyone willing to accept them. The colors are new and fresh, nature shows  complex and articulate deeps, patterns that can talk to my heart more that in any other season.


I like this renovated sense of intimacy in being at home while outside is cold, the yellow warm lights of the house in contrast with the terse cold and misty blu that it diffuses everywhere.

All conjures to make possible this magic to appear, exactly when you don’t expect anything more…

Suddenly, Out Of The Blue
Some Kind Of Magic Pushes You Through
You Don’t Know When, How, Or Why
But Someday Gonna Take Off, Fly
Fly, Fly, Fly…

(Mike Oldfield, To Be Free)

For all of this, and for more, fall is a poetical season: the most poetical, in fact.