Viareggio, south-westerly breeze and overcast sky, the clouds chase each other at low altitude in a race without end, some time is not the classic beach holiday but is a continual feast for Ila even when the sun is a desire, then we decide to go to the beach to watch the waves furiously unload their fury on the deserted shore. After some time, but the wind can tear even the enthusiasm of Ila in whose eyes we read a dumb question: "Why here in this weather?".
The game is over, only time for a photo stolen from the flight path home for a hot soup.
Years pass and the picture ends up in an album along with many others, mute testimony to a tiny fragment of real life, perhaps especially the color combination of colors, but nothing more, yet that day were just a little girl dressed in a sailor near a ski rescue, were much more: the key to open the door of memories of a past time.
close my eyes and feel again the smell of fresh paint shoes ready for the season, I hear the screams of appeal to those who, in defiance of the prohibitions categorical, sat on the pad save, in the perception of that distant memory even the sailor dress me seems less ridiculous.
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