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Summer is approaching again, despite everything...
It's eight in the evening on an ordinary day of the new Coronavirus era, tomorrow and the day after I'm working from home, Friday is May 1st, there will be no concerts, I don't know for how many years, naturally.
Lying on the bed, I enjoy the solitude, my mind wanders.
I'm listening to "The Rotters' Club" by Hatfield & The North.
Not easy music but with magic on its wings.
Atonal, somewhat as necessarily the exciting and confusing succession of hours in a summer day of the early '70s must be, childhood years, like those in the photo...
The darkness slowly illuminates the room.
Those summer days, without breaks, except to catch a breath and take a sip of water, spent chasing and capturing as many sun rays as possible, running on foot or by bicycle, before they turn into stars.
Like “Fitter Stoke has a bath.”
An album without breaks, sometimes dissonant, that of Hatfield & The North, but with oases of crystalline melody, pure lyricism, like a Dylan Thomas poem sublimated into music and voice.
Like “Didn’t matter anyway.”
But honestly, I don't even know who Dylan Thomas is, and even if today it's time to go to sleep, tomorrow I’ll be back here, morning at the beach, afternoon playing soccer, and this time I won’t be the goalkeeper.
Tomaszewski this time will be someone else...
I’ll keep my sore wrist under control.
And then in the evening, focaccia with tomato, my aunt makes it delicious.
Track nine of my CD is playing, a suite, at a certain point a beautiful saxophone part starts.
I don't read the title, I consult Shazam.
"Track not recognized."
I try again.
"Track not recognized..."
Those memories are just mine, it couldn't be otherwise...
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