IN THE MORNING

I had had to get up early that morning, a little earlier than when I went to school. I had taken the subway direction Jonio and I had gotten off more or less at the level of the tram station.

I had stopped on the sidewalk so that it divided the street in two halves and while I waited for the tram to arrive I had started to think, to elaborate and to compose, in my mind, the poem that could best describe that moment.

It was seven o'clock and the sun had not yet fully risen; its rays touched the skin of my face and arms, brushed me like a caress, like petals of pink, yellow, and orange flowers; the morning breeze made itself felt, gave a lonely breeze, fresh and soft at the same time.

I was, therefore, in the middle of the road, but perhaps it is more correct to say that I was at the center of an antithesis operated by time.

The feet were a little cold, while the hands, kept in the pockets of the jacket, were too warm and I felt that if, at any moment I took them out, I might find that they were melted like candles in the fire.

After a few moments, perhaps a few minutes, perhaps half an hour, it seemed to me that I could hear the sound of the mechanisms that are located above the trams that run on the great wires that are placed for the operation of the trolleybuses; and at the same time the perpetual and fast and repetitive sound of the contact between the rails and the noises of the tram.

I looked around, it seemed that I was the only one listening to it, maybe the others just heard it, they just didn't care, everyone cared for himself alone: ​​who was on the phone, who listened to music and who chatted animatedly with the person that stood beside him.

Nobody seemed to notice the wonder that was happening.
he sound was getting louder, until I could see the tram: it was making the curve.

Then, for a moment, a gust of wind produced by the cutting of the air of the vehicle, and then a light whistle.

He had stopped: the doors had opened in front of me and practically immediately I moved and placed, first one, then the other, my feet on the plastic that covered the floor of the wagon, a little loose and a little sticky. Then I looked for a free seat on the tram, and as soon as I found one on the back I sat down.

I put my arm on the window and with my hand I moved the hair that the wind had blown up in front of my eyes. Here it is, the wonder.

From the window I could make out the buildings opposite, of that color between cold beige and yellow, but which were warmed by the warm rays of the sun, which gave those ancient buildings an orange hue.

They were like satellites that glow with reflected light.

From where I was observing that scene, I could also see below the tracks on which he was traveling, the electric wires above; around pines and other magnificent buildings of the same color as those described above.

It looked like one of those perfect landscapes for an analog.

There I found peace.

 

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