Slow Life: 56 It's My Number

I look out the window on this leaden December morning,

gazing across the steep hills,

formed by small olive trees that surround the house down there

where your gaze breaks against the hills ahead.

It is cold outside, it will be biting and windy the season that we will be able to at Christmas.

While my gaze wanders along the ridges of the woods,

the crackling of the fire just lit in the fireplace

lulls me into the sweet memory of the road I walked,

giving me a pleasant feeling of peace.

Today, in front of this window, memories fade away

related to the hardness of my life,

to the sense of abandonment for the loss of my father,

to that accident that marked me forever,

to the growing responsibility for the family

and the countless flaws that my body has highlighted over the years.

At 56 I quit my job and take back my life.

I have no particular dreams,

I don't want to be somewhere else,

I don't want to be another person,

I don't want to be with another family.

I would like to keep hearing the crackling of the fire in winter,

I would like to continue walking along my hills,

I would like to see the leaves change colors during my walks,

I would like to see olives growing outside the house,

I would like to continue to feel the warmth of my children

who are starting to walk their way.

I would like to continue to see my wife's wrinkles,

like little smiles on her skin,

I would like to go to mass on Sunday meeting friends

feeling like an extended family.

56 years old, already, a good age to be free and serene

after many trials and hardships.

But now, sitting in my favorite armchair, in front of the fire,

I understand that I will not be able to see leaves, colors, smiles, smell and warmth,

see friends, fruits, paths, morning dew and hills.

I will not be able to caress the sweet face of my children and, understand,

looking them in the eye, it's time you let them go.

Nothing will be there anymore, because nobody, not even those who are running to me

can help me.

There will be no brother, sister, children, doctors and medicines to meet me.

I'm looking at you light, calm.

56 is now my number,

like a foot race, I'm walking my new path,

but I have you all close, on a day when the sun

shines on everything,

giving even to the imperfection of existence

a perfect scope.

56 is now my number.

Automatic translation. We apologize for any inaccuracies. Original article in Italian.