Today would be a good day for leaning over a bridge in Florence, and watching the reflections in the river. I remember it well, and walking back late evening, turning the corner to the sounds of an angel, the quality of the buskers in Florence should never be underestimated. She sang opera as though she had been born to it, and we marvelled. Then there was the street puppeteer, who was so adept at his craft, and a storyteller straight from the land of the Brothers Grimm. Back I spun, into a landscape of childlike play, laughter and tenderness. He was a conductor of joy, no less. And all for the price of a few lire thrown into a hat. That’s where I want to be today, expansive, joyful, serene. I’m not.
But the sun is shining, sending a message of some hope, amongst the hurly burly of a gale strength wind. The day threatens to be a long one, since my eldest was up at 3.30 am for a flight, which , by association involves me too rising with the lark. Today he is attending a trip to Auschwitz, just the day, returning later this evening. He loves history, and was offered a place, involving some work on his part, to follow up from the trip in an attempt to educate others about the horrors. An evil that has to be revisited, in the hope that humans avoid the same mistakes. I wish.
So many pockmarks on history, the only way forward is to learn and hope. I wrote a poem on this theme , some time ago, after an atrocity of some sort. I hadn’t been writing poetry long at this point, so bear it in mind!