Next Friday is November 5th. Next Thursday will be first Thursday of November.
Wind isn’t blowing anymore, not so strong as in past days at least, and as always, in my homeland, after the fierce and freezing wind we have bright sun, low on the horizon in the winter morning, and such a clear and fresh sky. For a couple of hours you can see up to the other distant western shore and up to the mountains: to the Alps, two hundred miles away. It doesn’t last for long, because then the sun warms up the land and it’s blurry in the distance, but for those few hours you see all colors. You see very far.
There was something in my mind this morning – at first I was not able to realize what it was, I only knew that I was moody, then it came. Next week; it’s the first week of November. Our wedding anniversary. And first Thursday of November, many years ago, was the day we kissed first.
Actually, there isn’t any anniversary, anymore. In my Web diary I mentioned only that I was going through changes in my life – then I stopped the diary, I didn’t write anything more until few weeks ago. That was because I didn’t have the strength to write about reality and I was writing only fantasy stories; in fantasy stories, all(most) goes well, the princess is happy and marries his Hero, Dark Minions are destroyed by the Good Ones and the dragon is either discovered as good pal or is killed by the Hero. So the reason why I wasn’t writing anymore, is that the Hero didn’t win his princess for another year – and some Dark Minion was maybe laughing at him, too.
I’m writing new stories now, stories that once more have strenght, and doing a lot of things, I’m writing on my Web diary again and … I almost forgot that next week is first week of November. It’s good. I moved on. I already realized it this summer when I was traveling around, now I am sure. ‘Remember, Remember, The Fifth of November’. It’s also funny, as a coincidence.
I am no longer there and never will it be, this is a different life, now. I think I will never truly forget it, it was a wonderful day. The images will stay with me forever.
But it’s present, and absent, at the same time; the essence of the presence in those pictures is … the absence. Roland Barthes one more time, for today. Philosophers, and love.