Funeral Thank You For Pastor

I no longer need my younger years

È l’estate che va via, anche se ancora le spiagge sono piene di ombrelloni e trovare un parcheggio somiglia a un’impresa. Una comitiva di ragazzi sorride di spalle a un sole e a uno splendido tramonto, indossano tutti quanti degli occhiali scuri e come tanti altri marinai di terra sono rimasti intrappolati dalla bellezza di un panorama che tiene insieme l’eternità e l’infinito tra il profilo gibboso della Sicilia, la magnificenza dell’Etna arrossata e un mare sterminato che darkening is announcing the retirement of September. The summer ends and you realize the fact that the carcasses of cats and dogs along the road are no longer than just unsightly spots painted on the asphalt. For these pets in August is the month in which they are moved, are like so many seals taken in full from sharks to 110 per hour that can not wait to get home in the stomach and inject less gasoline and more diesel. It will end soon also abandoned the life of that pointer is between the gardens of my block, consumed by a terrible Esman as to make a mercy to my old classmate who meet at the bus stop. When he looks at me and tells that makes him sad that dog reminded him that the time to mature and perhaps we forget our adolescent cruelty to animals. The same cruelty toward the nine years I think, led him to inject gasoline into the body of a cat and then judgments, inevitably dead cat, who had finished fuel, the same cruelty that led him to cut all four the legs of a dog to see if that was still able to walk. Adolescence is an age fierce regret that I do not regret nor, indeed, still a boy who feels as if life there was only one season. Quell'accorciarsi fast as if the day is not the same here also to signify a condition universal that the photographs on the edge of a landscape can perpetuate but can not defeat. August goes away and goes behind the summer, tourists, friends and rotten fruit on the ground. It also takes away some love and that was predictable, but you do not take me away which would be almost priests officiate at a ceremony whose sole purpose is my regeneration. A few steps from my sudden silence that barely mimics the absolute perfection of deafness of the sea, a mother teaches her children the secret of swimming, holding their stomach and lets his hands still forced to slam into the armrests and I think to return to my first approaches to the mind in a time that Lazarus was still in the beach and I dive into the water headlong as a skipjack stupid to get out after hours of arguments with my parents, proud of my lips swollen and purple, happy fingers wrinkled and white with contrasting olive on my skin. I, as children, I think I'll never radically although lately I have exceeded my locks on them and also with my pessimism. Between thoughts and feelings go away and leave the summer with him this impression of quiet beauty, this suit resonance of the love of life and truth that is my only real, great friend. September will come soon, will come with the regrets that knows how to rock, with its load of "if" or remorse, and in those days my endowment does not make sense to anyone, nor will there be more songs mangled by the sea advances and retreats that will be back as fast as a normal course of a day of mass work and deserted beaches on the horizon, the sea, eternity and some couples just born to resume making love hidden from the gaze of all.

Gregory Sorgon