dear grandmother of fairy tales,
I'll call you this because I do not know your name. Maybe I never knew. Or maybe I just forgot. After many years in my thoughts as you become a mythical figure, a fairy, a grandma that everyone wants and dreams. Probably over the years, the reality was no change in my mind, distorted. Now I like to remember as it appears in my daydreams. As it appeared to me as a child. And I see your hair with delicate nuances of white painted silver. Ordered, bound in a soft hair. A plump little body, wrapped in soft clothes that receives little flashy and classic. I remember you sitting there on the wall enclosure of the park of Claudio. I do not know how or why children we found ourselves suddenly all around you. We ended up sitting on the floor with the look on your gestures, your face. And hanging from your lips, the thin gap between the lines. Slowly you opened your book and pick a page. With emphasis we read the short story that maybe you wrote a few days before. Or who knows when. Your face was sweet. Tender. Your calm gestures. We listened in silence to the end. Completely enraptured by your story. Then the fairy tale ended, we still dumbfounded. Thanked with a big grin ec'allontanavamo. Back to play. You stay there a while 'among the other women who were knitting or chatting with each other. One day you're not coming to the park. It took thee sought. Another day you are not yet come. Took thee sought. And then another day. And another. And another. And another. As long as no more waiting for thee. But I can you imagine still there, reading your fairy tales to children of all past and future generations. You colored words of my imagination, my childhood. Farewell, dear grandmother of fairy tales, thanks for giving me those unforgettable moments.
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