Who are you, reader who read my words a hundred years?
I can not send a single flower of riches this spring
a single streak of gold of the clouds away.
Open the doors and look around.
From your flower garden captures the memories of fragrant flowers gone a hundred years ago.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning,
sending its glad voice across a hundred years.
Rabindranath Tagore
so I would start questo 21 ottobre 2010, almeno per oggi voglio tentare di ricordarmi quanto poco è reale ciò che dice il mio orologio...
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