saving anchors

when on the way back, from my ergonomic compartment
I see the gentle slope of the hill
embracing the woods in the valley below
and the vineyard rows allthrough as a musical stave

I think about when I was child in the snow
sliding on a sack of cloth
as a magical flying rug

and hanging to that memory I remain
until the hill behind the curve disappears

memories
saving anchors
reasons of hope

our life,
what we leave behind
the memory of the sound into the spring wind
when the symphony is already over
and far away
away in the forgotten suburbs of our heart
it is already dark

Marco Bo