(translated with google translate)
Autumn has arrived, winter is upon us and not only that. We are all going through such a particular and unprecedented period that the snorts of mother Etna, which crackles and roars undisturbed almost as if to attract attention, almost overshadowed. And we down here chasing newsletters, news programs, dpcm, anxieties never felt before. Yet it is enough then to take the road that leads to the park to feel that nothing is lost, the heart is lightened, the mind calms down.
Here she is. A certainty. An expectation never disregarded.
The October sun that warms up the magical show that autumn puts on by one tone. The first sprinkles of snow and the temperatures that now require the down jacket and, sometimes, gloves.
Up there everything is immense, changeable, magnetic. And now, everything is quiet.
It is a bit as if after the summer the season had taken a leap forward by at least a month. Yet someone still takes advantage of the opportunity to immerse themselves in the unique views of the volcano. And who knows, maybe that’s right. In the parallel reality of the volcano we are perhaps already ahead, projected to what will come next: full of hope, wind in the face, printed smiles, eyes immersed in colors, ears strained so as not to miss even the smallest hiss, we are all children ready to be amazed and to marvel again and again.
She is here. She does not run away. She is timeless and in no hurry. She embraces us almost as if to console us when she is maternal. But like all mothers she makes herself heard, and it is scary, when she gets angry. We need you so much. And I like to think that she, too, sometimes needs us.
