A MOUNTAIN FLOWER
Salerno - Sunday, November 24th 2019
At the first light of the morning, my father-in-law and I laboriously climbed up from that cold and dark valley of the Alburni, where - contrary to what the locals assured us - we had not even met the shadow of a wild boar.
We finally reached an open clearing, sheltered to the north from the winds by a rocky ridge, and covered by a thick mantle of grass, on which some small trees scattered here and there shaded: it seemed to us that we had reached the center of Eden .
"It seems like a suitable place to rest a little!" - said my father-in-law, sitting down and leaning wearily on the trunk of a small tree. I did not answer, but I expressed my complete assent by settling myself in another small tree, not far from his.
I open a short parenthesis on my father-in-law, who has been gone for several years, and who for me was much more than a father-in-law: a great friend, and a second father. Meanwhile, he was a very strong and determined man, who loved the mountains, and nature in general, and who loved travel and exploration books.
He loved nature, respecting it.
I knew that his dream was to be able to take a trip to Africa, especially in Safari. He liked hunting tales, and writers like Hemingway. I remember that the night before I died, I started talking to him about the trip to Africa we had planned to do together, and when I stopped talking he was silent for a while, and then kindly said to me: "Please, Zeferino. ! " This was my father-in-law!
Well, we sat there and motionless, not speaking, trying to recover our strength, and we looked around at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains, and down at the colorful houses and the cultivated fields and the paths winding gently to the last reaches of the valley, veiled in the distance by a faint fog.
Then one thing suddenly attracted my attention: a mountain flower, standing straight and proud and beautiful on his stem, vibrating with every breath of wind. I wondered, amazed, how I hadn't noticed it before!
There was all around a great serenity and lightness, to which both of us did not oppose any resistance, letting us take possession of it for every fiber of our body. From where we were we had a great view; but also, and regularly, my gaze returned to rest on that flower, which seemed more and more beautiful to me! And as fatigue left my body, I felt an irresistible urge grow in me to take possession of it, to grasp it, to be able to gaze at it closely in my hands.
I then considered the possibility of being able to reach it, but it did not seem easy at all: the flower was quite high, far beyond where, even extending my arm for its entire length, I could have reached ... ridge offered few holds. But by now I had decided, and nothing was going to change my mind.
"I'm going to pick that flower!", I said. So it was that then, under the amused gaze of my father-in-law, who in any case recommended me several times to be careful not to break my neck, I set about doing the little hands-free climb.
Exhausted by fatigue and tension, I found a position that allowed me, extending my arm, to be able to grasp it; and I was about to do it, but at the last moment I heard my father-in-law's voice again, saying to me: "Leave him there. It's so beautiful!"
Short moments of uncertainty passed. Then in my mind the full meaning of my father-in-law's exhortation prevailed: if I had caught it, I would have turned it over a little in my hands, but, sooner or later, I would have thrown it - insignificant and crumpled and mortified - on the ground! And then, little by little, I came back down from the ridge, you will look at it for one last time, and I forgot about it.
Today, old man, so many years later, if I happen to stop and look in front of a florist's window at the varieties of flowers on display - dozens of gaudy red roses, armies of fragrant little white carnations, and tulips, and orchids - it happens to me to think of an absurd, impossible thing: that mountain flower on the rocky ridge, vibrant and proud on its stem, unique, is still there for me.
I RACCONTI DI ZEFERINO:
Quel temporale estivo sulla spiaggia ...
Incontrarsi al Bryant Park
GIOSUE' e CARMINE.
Un Fiore di Montagna.
La Nuvoletta Solitaria
CONTES DE ZEFERINO:
Cette tempête d'été sur la plage...
Rendez-vous à Bryant Park
GIOSUE' et CARMINE
Une fleur de montagne
Le Nuage Solitaire
TALES OF ZEFERINO:
That summer storm on the beach ...
Meet at Bryant Park
GIOSUE' e CARMINE
A Mountain Flower
The Lonely Cloud
Tags: images and emotions, fiore, Fiore di montagna, fiore sulla roccia, fiore ritto sul suo stelo, A Mountain Flower