Nights of white satin
After Winter, Spring will come. Remember: our ancestors knew of far worse times, starvation, wars, plague – the real one – when darkness came over the world. They resisted, often silent, always with hope in their heart.
Don’t lose hope: the seeds are there, there will be Spring, goodwill, and peace.
The story is there, the characters laid out, not yet fully alive, but stirring. The daily bombardment of falsehoods, the unstoppable flow of hate and lies are the sad background: is it not the writer’s duty to see through, to unravel, to show the lessons that could have been learnt? But who is she to claim to know? Who is he to claim some knowledge, somehow privileged to the “happy few”, as Stendhal once wrote?
Only the story should tell, only the characters should speak. Not by blaming the past – which is our present – but only by imagining what could be, do we have a chance to change the future…
Image: Statue of Liberty, courtesy http://travelhdwallpapers.com/statue-of-liberty-sunset/
Together they studied the map, gathering their memories of the paths, the streams, the valleys: out of that landscape they worked out their best chance of escaping the monsters.
For they knew the mountain was kind to those who respected her, and showed her their willingness to trust her, and patiently to explore her secrets.
So, in the end, when they were ready, they started the ascent, taking at first the difficult path, and then cutting through a steep gorge.
There, for a while, they were exposed, but they knew how to swiftly divert their route, avoid the ambush and continue their ascent, like spirits in the forest.
For that war was about hiding, moving unseen, silent and ready to strike: a partisan war.
Image: French Résistance fighters in WWII, le Maquis.
