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Rating: The other day I bought a small red mulberry plant knowing that I will have to wait seven years before I can harvest the first fruits. Besides this, I am also aware of the impossibility of picking the ripest mulberry, at the slightest hesitant step and stretch of the hand it detaches and falls to the ground, like a lizard's tail. So I wonder if it is worth waiting so long to grow good and juicy fruits that I will never taste.
Recently, my Turkish lilies have bloomed, scientifically known as Hemerocallis Fulva, I prefer to call them by their scientific name which derives from Greek and means in a few words "fleeting beauty", because the life of these flowers lasts the time of one night, during the day they already appear withered and faded. In two stems and a dozen buds I couldn't witness the blooming of a single flower. Should I perhaps spend a sleepless night to admire just one flower in its full glory?
The answers are not slow in coming thanks to Piavoli and his “Il Pianeta azzurro”
I notice the green of the meadows and the black of the night and they are nothing but shades of blue.
I notice man when he acts as a man and he seems only a leftover: when he works, when he eats, when he waits, when he sleeps, when he channels the waterways or moves stones, alien to an entire world, absent and secluded in his fleeting absorption and only present in moments of unusual irrationality, among invisible shapes in soft beds of poaceae.
Piavoli answers me in a very exhaustive and somewhat obvious way, telling me that it is impossible to eternalize nature, whether it be seven years or a single evening.
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