Sunday, 18 August 2013

the fiddler on the balcony

Having spent the last week working from my parents home in Torino, it's about time I head back to Milan.
This evening I watered the plants another time, threw the garbage out, emptied the dishwasher and double check everything was alright: I can't do it tomorrow as the train back to Milan is quite early.
I'm sitting outside, on the balcony.
It's the key feature of my parents' place. Since the first time I saw this flat, it was the balcony that got me: it's really big and since there's no tall building around you can see the mountains, the Alps, in the distance.
I spent a lot of evenings here looking out, enjoying the view, admiring the clouds in the sky and the storms in the distance.

Now I'm going to miss this balcony for something else. Somewhere, around here, there's a violinist.
Somebody that is currently practicing really hard at violin.
I started listening to him, or her, let's say the fiddler, last Monday: it was early Monday and it was a faint sound. The screams of the psycho that lives above my parents were covering any other sounds nearby.
When the psycho stopped screaming (and spraying with cleanser the window sills, but that's another story), then I started hearing the violin more clearly.

It's been the soundtrack of the past seven days: the things I loved the best was that it wasn't really planned. There wasn't a moment where i could be sure the fiddler would start playing.
It would come and go randomly, the music would make its entrance out of the blue and stop in the same way.
I'm going to miss the fiddler tomorrow and I want to believe that the last practice I heard this afternoon, sitting outside on the balcony, was the fiddler's "see-you-soon" gift.

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