I touched water yesterday white and cold, purposely hardened by pugnaciously low temperatures fighting to withhold the solid fluid against a thieving star, roaring
sweltering rays to melt, moulded men made of snow, as the girl grew disappointed expecting whipped cream texture, lack of softness, digging deep with fingers covered in gloves,
to make ***** to throw at others who will smile at the jovial play, insensitive to the endeavours of the eroded mountain modelled by many million years of scorching suns, blistering winds,
blizzards freezing falls as they cascade, sculptures made by nature crossed by bridges, so heavenward drivers succumb to overwhelming giddiness before entering an endless claustrophobic tunnel,
where science laboratories hide secrets of the universe under a three thousand meter elevated rock. The Great Rock of Italy an immense park, where protected species graze unscathed,
farmersβ labours engender culinary delights for an imprisoned dictator, while physicists discover neutrinos beating light at a dashing race, and Ladyhawke mutates to fly
over a nocturnal vagabonding wolf. I touched water yesterday, white and cold, and I could only imagine the enthralling moment when spring will come and all shall liquesce
to replenish rivers and lakes, irrigating soils for centenary trees to blossom once again granting life to living creatures witnessing the grand spectacle of perfectly attuned cycles.