Radici nella terra come ricordi nella memoria
Memory is the footprint of Thought.
The hole in the window of the mind is the eye that looks the world and that allows the light to break in.
The dust enters together with light, and sediments.
It becomes floor, then walls, then it erodes.
Scars. Then, dust again.
It flies away. And swirls with light.
Faces like pictures that hanged on the wall but that aren't there anymore. They leave a mark, a new window on the memory that flies away.
Names, only names are left on a forgotten diary.
Roots in the mind, that spread and change direction, just like crazy boats.
The tree is wisdom. Its roots, like from lands of Itaca, start from the feet of a bed and grow in the earth, in the memory of an island. In the memory of people, in their minds, in their homes.
Homes of bricks and ideas.