Absence in our path

In the surrounding darkness, I seek for a way, a why toward the light. The sounds reaching me make no sens, they gather with my thoughts, weaving nothing. They spring up from all sides, I got lost It is the familiar leap in the unknown feeling that every morning calls for and every evening sooths. I begin maps I can’t read, but witch presence reassure me. The paper material on which they are sketched, the shards in my memory, indicate more validly the north that what I try to decipher from the surroundings.

Inevitably, with the day I finally discern between my hollows and my bumps. Inevitably with the revealed contours I accept the darkness that comes before the light and also the darkness that straight after swallows it. I move a step at the time, often with joy, rich in the knowledge accumulated with the years, the wrinkles and the scars .

If I have left, it is for there is no place where to stay, except, with no certitude, the death. If I go over my self, it is for the others too are someplace else. I leave to the night and the dreams the illusion of a better past.

So I trace in words and lines, in arcs and concepts, those paths as pebbles comforting my backyard’s sights, when the way is ahead and today it is under my feet. I assemble and reassemble what I may have scattered and if sometimes the road seems familiar, it is for it needed to be drawn, deepened, understood.