Just to talk
We depend on the sun
Wild scattered words
I have often found myself, as I do now, in front of a blank sheet of paper, a sheet of paper just waiting to be filled with my ideas, sometimes song lyrics, sometimes articles or stories, some essays for university studies or for the now so distant school days, more recently social posts, slogans and catchphrases.
It is true, I admit, I have always experienced this moment as a pleasant one.
I have always loved challenges and that blank sheet of paper in front of my eyes has always represented for me the opportunity to give voice to my creativity and never an inconvenience, even at school and even if I had time against me.
I don’t remember ever making a draft version of a paper the same as the good copy to be handed in, there were always new ideas and new catch up to add.
Now I find myself here, sitting at my desk, in my silent room, looking out the window for inspiration from the life that continues to flow out there, heedless of my temporary absence.
The rays of the sun are warming up this January day and entering through the window they caress my face giving me a sense of relaxation and deep peace.
We depend on the sun, is even too obvious.
A bus passes by puffing and screeching, a lady is talking sweetly to her little dog as she pulls it gently past the newsagent. The guy at the bar takes advantage of the delivery requested by the agency owners in the corner shop to sneak a cigarette, while the mechanic stands as usual under the car looking for who knows what…
The cars pass one after the other in a slow and cadenced flow, and when the wheels meet that manhole in the middle there is the classic metallic thud, but it is not too much annoying, at least to me.
I’m on the eighth floor, I’ve moved into this house few years ago, and here I’ve discovered how everything makes sense differently from what I was used to.
Sounds are more muffled, more distant, while my naughty gaze can escape from me and go far away, literally flying all over the roofs of other buildings, enjoying the horizon as it passes between antennas and clothes hanging out to dry in the sun, demurely touching the lives of others.
To be honest I have to say that I can’t really see the street from here, in fact if I don’t lean out of the window I can’t see it at all, but from the noises, even if they are muffled, I understand exactly what is going on down there, I can feel every single vibration, and imagination does the rest… imagination, that I certainly don’t lack… The sun is kissing me now even little bit stronger and warmer then before.
I get distracted from the vision by being suddenly struck by the sound of my pencil on the paper, I know it sounds slightly old-fashioned, but I love pencils, especially the wood ones with the soft-tipped that leave an important line when they run across the paper.
Taking notes in this way personalises them, makes them less sterile and leaves a real trace of me.
I now look at the sheet of paper lying on my desk, motionless as if it also enjoying these unusually strong winter sunbeams, feeling the usual familiar satisfaction grow in me as I see that the blank sheet now contains a small but significant part of me in its texture.
Gianfranco Vigneri © 2021
If you enjoyed this text, you might also want to read:
or some of the lyrics I write for my songs
