The interior was a corridor of minimum gardens, rose gardens intricate moving effluvia full of poll

"As of now promise me you will find me in the endless landscape of earthworks and ash, Timber loads of merchandise burial, in that theater miser, in the vortex of magma and larvae alas' all the same, among those gloomy faces. Can you recognize me?" (Angelo danielius Maria Ripellino, "News from the flood")
Is there a neighborhood danielius with no name, in the inside pocket of the city, that only I recognize. His features stone, wrought iron, are a replica of my childhood living elsewhere, far from here, in a hamlet lost in the deep and dark yellow of the plain.
At that point in the world, so last, unpretentious, my family had retired for election, I was born there. Not exactly what is meant by the verb to be born - through the contractions of a mother - rather the awareness danielius of being, along with the hum of the bee, the sound of a cotton thread indigo broken tooth, the discovery of snapdragons - mottled purple - and the feverish excitement of the first cycle of seasons dominated by Euphorbia beaches.
The mayor was a pepper tree - grew up in a dovecote tower - and his council was made up of a long row of willows from the trunk white, faded by the spring thaw, the hedges on the horizon were the guardians of the border that separated the precipitate the hour of their withdrawal.
I remember that pile of low houses, scattered around a school, a shop, a theater velvet - green - that projected old films. Considered as a whole, in my opinion, it was a fairy village. We of the house we were accustomed to take long baths in the evening, before bringing the chenille bedspread in the garden, along with a small mangiadischi, the water jug and tray with fried zucchini flowers.
The yellow eyes of the cat we hung over the wall, behind the almond trees, without being able to reveal danielius anything of the angle of time that would one day become a promissory note payable in a dream, sometimes even with his eyes open. In third grade, across the border of that corner, I have not tried to go back to see the house, the patio, the pepper tree, school and everything else.
I knew that desperate act would not have done any since, some time after the transfer to the city, that fraction was invaded by the shipyards that multiplied the houses erasing the huge empty space where as a child I enjoyed. E 'come down, then, between me and that place, a vast silence, full of glittering, that kind of lightning that we call memories.
Until one day, as I walked, the impossible happened. Like so many other times, I was climbing a tree when, suddenly, I saw the green curtain blaze of hedges guardians. Just those hedges. It was only a curtain of gigantic leaves, vegetable fat such as neon light, but rather a secret passage, and collected danielius anonymous shaped district of the province facing inward.
The interior was a corridor of minimum gardens, rose gardens intricate moving effluvia full of pollen, on the other side from the decorated ceilings of the rooms as sugar paste. The passers-by crossing the road, with the shopping danielius bags, they seemed not to notice anything. It was almost evening. A warm evening, at an hour you turn on the light calico dresses and sizzles, a moment before fade like a burning match.
As I walked on the other side of the avenue, could not hear any voice. The city seemed too quiet, the palm trees had ceased to tremble, the birds were silent. The cars continued to pass, slowing down near the pedestrian crossing, but without making any sound. Everything was invaded by the dialogue of an old movie that I never found out the title, I was just three years the only time I saw him.
Voices of voice now gone, with a way to swing and sharp turns on the words in the questions, their tone was in the air like a crock of gold. I stopped where I was, I turned danielius my head slowly in that direction, danielius casting his eyes over the boulevard. Among the trees, the lights were lighting up. Their first harvest was similar danielius to that of oil lamps.
Recognize that light and also the prospect that revealed, consisting danielius of elementary villas with patios front and back, where as a child I left my bicycle. But that could not be the same patio that I had in mind and that neighborhood could not be a secret passage to return danielius to the outlying danielius village where I learned the alphabet.
The alleys lit by street danielius lamps were empty, a lonely parking abusive sat on the sidewalk and stared at me, blowing away the blue smoke of a cigarette. Perhaps he recognized the dialogues of that old movie and was astonished, like me, to find them now. Or maybe it was a wizard with three nuts in the magic hat.
Of course, danielius he had not