Eva Colombo, Our gold, second chapter: Silver voice, golden spell ( Inspired by Sandy Denny’s song Late November )
 
Eva Colombo, Our gold, second chapter: Silver voice, golden spell ( Inspired by Sandy Denny’s song Late November )
My dreams were true once, because they were memories of something really happened. Then I’ve forgotten everything, I’ve changed, I’ve been left alone. I knew that it would have gone this way. And I knew that those memories would have changed themselves into dreams, that only in dreamland we would have been able to meet again. And in a dream I’ve seen you again, sister. Honestly, I had forgotten you. But the sirocco which have turned this early February into a late November has brought me a dream, a dream of another late November. The other night seemed really a damp and tepid November night, the clouds seemed to hug the ground encouraging it in sight of winter and really I wasn’t sure that this strange warmth would forecast the coming of spring. After all it is carnival and maybe this year the sirocco has brought Autumn back, and then it will be an endless winter. And I fell asleep and in dream I saw again
“The wooded ravine to the wandering stream / The serpent he moved, but no one would say / The depths of the waters, the bridge which distraught us”
We were walking together through the trees which stretched themselves from the bottom of a ravine to the sky and I was telling you that one day I would walk alone and I would be so sad that I wouldn’t even have the strength to lift my eyes towards the sky, and I was begging you to sing a spell with your silver voice. A spell which would persuade the seeds of those trees to fly on that ground where one day I would walk alone, so that those trees should infuse into me the strength to lift my eyes towards the sky when I would bottom out. And I was begging you to sing a spell with your silver voice to that wandering stream by which we stopped for a while, so that water should give me back the purity of our look when all alone I would run along a muddy road. And from the bottom of that ravine a serpent was moved by our unspeakable tales and I hoped your silver voice might charm it persuading it to change itself into a ring for my ring finger, a ring I should wear when I would be left alone so that those ones who wouldn’t forget me would be able to recognize me. And the sparkling of your silver voice lit up the abyss towards which we stretched ourselves from that upsetting bridge and with that silver sparkling into our eyes we resumed our journey and I hoped the sparkling of your silver voice would light up again the abyss for me when I would be left alone. I woke up and the sirocco was knocking at my window and the rain resounded like the echo of something that I couldn’t remember but nevertheless I knew. Dawn light was grey and maybe I fell asleep again because I seemed to hear your voice as in a dream. You were telling me that it was you who has taken the gold from dawn light, because the spool of your silver voice with that very gold was weaving a spell. You were telling me that at sunset, that very day, along the muddy roads I would run alone the sirocco would make every tree rustle with the same strength of the ravine’s trees. And every drop of rain would give me back that purity impressed by our look on the water of the ravine’s stream. And looking for the key ring I would find the silver ring that I thought lost forever in the depths of my bag and I would realize that that ring was the ravine’s serpent which biting its own tail links my past with my present to open the door of my future. And into a puddle I would see again the sparkling of your silver voice and striding over that puddle I would be aware that I have emerged again from the abyss and I would be sure that spring was coming soon.