 ...Midnight
chimed from a distant bell tower in S. Stefano when I, with Theodore
Breson, abandoned our colony immersed in the sleep. But as soon as
we crossed the plain of Gambarie, we were at the feet of Montalto
Mount, starting the mules on throughout the darkest wood, silently
clinging to one of their ropes.
...Allowing in those red mountains that set the blaze in a fantastic
way, the outstretched hands, seemed savages of the other hemisphere
intents to a sacred rite. ...And at once dawn skimmed, as soon as it grazed, the unforeseen top of another mountain, and the unstable peak of the Etna jutting out from that scary heap of loneliness mantled of viola: that caress grazed on the head of the big statue of the Saviour blessing from Montalto and on the slope of Jonian sea it was a disclosing, in the pale twighlight, of immense planes still veiled with darkness: wherever the magic touch of the hand passed it outlined  forms,
from the profiles of the mountains down
and down to the coasts that with their inlets, their promontories,
started to distinguish from the ample obscurity of the sea.The Tyrrhenian slope, still in the night, sensed the shiver of that awakening. From
“Aspromonte”
by Umberto Zanotti Bianco |
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