«Now I will do nothing but listen, / To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute toward it. / I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals. / I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice, / I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following, / Sounds of the city and sounds out of the city, sounds of the day and night […]»
Walt Whitman, Song of myself
Care voci, cari suoni,
si avvicina Pasquetta, e anche quest’anno dovrem(m)o resistere alla tentazione di una rimpatriata.… Read the rest