Write A Lettr To Ford

snowy paths.

I was one of the still snow-covered mountains in search of myself, I traveled paths mossy pine sleepers burned by the ice between here and there melted puddles like ponds, thorny bushes and broken branches under the weight of snow. Top hawks made their flight subtle and fleeting, blackbirds flying low, Zirl went away to my slow pace. What was the wickedness of the world far and how deep concerns that used to go with me. My concern, however, was lighter, the silence comforted me a little. Silence, oh, the silence many voices been heard when there is silence. It all made sense, even the noise of trampling on my leaves. The sky was gray and the world as the sea water when the lash the northwest, it cleans up with its undertow of restoring at least a little its winter splendor. I looked at this beautiful sky and chill with my touch of melancholy stormy eyes of God

Antonio Ragone