A week progress of the Magi, that they have deposited smiles and dreams in children, and I find the serenity necessary to see the background that, inexorably every other year too, these celebrations occur in one, on the basis of memory and discriminated memories, sweet and cruel, of those still with me. I see them, they are not, but I see them. I have only to look back, sideways, and there they are, omnipresent, without compromise, looking at me, "if" in front of them and leaving the heart and tear until stiff. From the beginning as the years go treadmill, mealy all the force of stream, rump ass, blow a blizzard or diesel engine, depending on where and under what circumstances. But always with that company, eternal, relentless or happy, somehow, I think, saved me and guide me also the fifty remaining weeks of the year.
Coming?, 2 I!, Photos and text (c)
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