![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimKKU8JjE2BWkO-rF5XKBxyMrOu_qlFFXYcSldldN0WyW09dDCBOYw-2sIUfyBELUIJIiYGcQDwmWPz4NtgAl-1mqgxTEcIg13uyQGVvmvRfPHkRpBi1GL7av8PlBcQZILj_xFSph2Zf4/s400/IMG_8075.jpg)
Le azioni del mondo non sfuggono all'influenza del sole.
Acquistano forme che vediamo perché sono dentro di noi.
Com'è possibile non vederle, per così lungo tempo.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVWAk3y1HQxadfWWK-4sNsHFsu27NqSE6C4lYnJWuQlW4jiH1w9knWeJ3vRmkxy-_fN0BrIbGG7YxmnIrvn19pO5ycXWWcyLPrDMDkKfPUBxW3yjLdDAL4BD2jQe7lSYpI9zjtACAaKAY/s400/IMG_8072.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnP3GsCm8N2aOKkeaSNOxkv7fX_8sAddM-5_2V-CHuG0CXyZBatlvrSMdeTUH6iWnN-0P34jzgkKLYTOnVtHnmDzNvIxIFSJ3H2StRc_Ryerm2GRz06ebc0yds2NViKY0UeeA99h6LhA/s400/IMG_8074.jpg)
Mi trovo a scrutare, con gli occhi, scivolando sulle pareti.
Spostandomi in avanti con i pensieri, per andare oltre.
Più di quanto lo permetta lo spazio di questi muri.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedg3Tb2M6GwaUWYIBcUhcNq5kYuDuLI8w5R7sdPXSJBqZc06mSZyPauK3bY5MGFgPQ8qPdamKoF_uzEeMp-QwdYeXRna1f5f_met21hTxUhSjzoxrwzJOn7AmC3h4DsX3nbqUO3gptlw/s400/IMG_8076.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZc1GfCPiS-rgbTNwoNot-N5s5iJEr6fmqb4SuLzu8ZLXrrIDIZN4_B7AEaSrE8J2QA0gMe9wQs1AhpDep-nDgHRXkvrCU5L0YvUGNCqvau5yIVGyHpMKmXb9eGvjAHM7r39lMwFmHdgg/s400/IMG_8077.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVf2kkgrgDzZDOQA1eZhwoZ64S1rcfiBXeHmcbS6If-5olkIGqsu2dLxUKGRJrVQwlJK3Uu11Ph9fSFKoB8r5t0wIhVBIeX49efDhYBgbM6m_BrHvcCEdoe-b3TffXVYYzP4TNnGf_OhI/s400/IMG_8078.jpg)
Scoprendo, spesso per caso, emozioni di piccole gioie.
Sorprese di scoperte inattese.
Di segni rivelati solo se osservati sotto influenza del sole.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLTPew9jPZisrNU8Ma6C7vwJSQXoVVOcg-p62TTzhLgE31AIQnpytWHBXlGfIQiD53oHvTsAwbzPO5GfoRitrv9GkunWhIEmHOGxCQpspX8cFf8QKu6jF4BQHCM7Hsm7UWpHtApRZtCz4/s400/IMG_8070.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKJlmG2ErNXO32M9DyqYLiDLSwnpGb5aN3ogOg7ToZSXt6RsNxY9mVHgGPXCxqOKNCfXCTljnOnlfaGHfiUBHjXQpqcw8ab-d9V3QYxpLmYaH6FP84LUOG45pUeCtRWJIKP0fYHfSFmw/s400/IMG_8073.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqH-gLP5nixmMCtc8srGM-gIW-8xkwTFbH3yqSXs-pIcQhG-x0MFZrDjwNRGIBHmAJ8GMz9KClx7FivKYxEHyQIG8nqIHPRBAUTXy5XDs5JV_V5v6Gaz1V_wYd3clm-2I-Y_tdC6vhVo/s400/IMG_8071.jpg)
Su increspature della luce, che sembravano pulsare.
Avere vita propria, animata dalla luce del mattino.
Come sentire che emettono frasi, odori di erbe bruciate.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguugrS_HspKvtlIadBupDyFGC5dAUD0QLWyyOOPR7Z52DOR9HiMCFwEQbZ_h62wlaU3HJLE7nLyJ-UmmPc8pQS-oZYeYdRvyAXz1KoxcVF1tAl1c2849Zq-XYm1VqC9zq1u6-EvfjCdCk/s400/IMG_8068.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCqATmUSXdPlG5t7qUOWdymaHNqM0H8B4YJuX5cwhAUlwIA2O41x_NecZhrOqZXb04gGCS9KeYWc7X5It1pwvY6VbL5A50suKBrtSJb4XEoEQvFN0ab_-6YAJ2tTrzjgMg4rm8k_K9-4/s400/IMG_8066.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikTz68SjIpuy18YbgIgJUpUduwsFKh4yjWb8pg_oi3W5hpZRsE7_tkX9u9FeglhlZLnlSRw7gFEK7VnmvMcpGhYeQ_VSN1bmwj_dJjz0EuNIBYeDtWQN1q9mGZhqX2j-nG60IW4Rrfa4I/s400/IMG_8062.jpg)
Sono le increspature della luce sui muri di VignaMaggio,
fotografate il mattino di domenica 17 aprile scorso.
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