WTI Magazine #8    2013 Dec, 6
Author : Maurizio Gabriele      Translation by: Alessandra Bitetti

Villa Borghese. How many times I went there: to distract myself, to think, or simply to walk. Today I want to get to the terrace overlooking Piazza del Popolo. From afar I see the crowd of tourists over the railing who are making a photo to the view or taking a picture of themselves with Rome behind them. 

I choose a separate place to enjoy the view without being disturbed by the noise. Someone who I can't see is playing a wonderful guitar music, the wind ruffles my hair while the half-height sun warms my face. I close my eyes and start to relish the spring scents.

When I open my eyes, my glance falls on a tree below me. A blue scarf lays down on the branches, and swings in the wind. The music reminds me a spanish melody, and as I often do in these situations, my mind starts to wander.

I can see that scarf, but now it's in a box with a big red bow. A man is taking it under his arm and holding in his hands a huge bunch of roses, the same color of the bow. He's hiking over the avenue towards the terrace of Villa Borghese, he's anxious but happy, he disguises his nervousness, walking with long strides. From a distance, he sees a woman from behind, she's leaning against the railing. Her hair is tied back and her skirt discloses her calves and her thin ankles. The man speeds up his pace and approaches her, trying to make as little noise as possible. He's whispering something in her ear, she turns smiling and throws her arms around his neck, and then they walk away embraced.

The woman is now leaning against the railing of the Villa Borghese terrace. The blue scarf is draped around the neck. Her look is lost in the void, and the tears are streaming down her face. It's the only sign of her unhappiness, the rest of the body is calm and relaxed, her back is upright and her shoulders are open. She's keeping a long-stemmed red rose in her hand. The petals are falling down in the wind, creating a scarlet vortex around her. Slowly, she climbs on the ledge, she steps forward and then she's in the void. She's falling while the scarf is carried away by the wind, and goes to rest in the branches of the trees.

"Excuse me... Please... A picture..." I turn. A middle-aged man is smiling and passing me a camera. I take it and I focus at the picture: a mixed group of middle-aged people is smiling and looking toward me. Click.