The Beach of Boccasette

I had done the math correctly. It wasn’t yet noon, and I was getting ready to say goodbye to the architect I had met earlier in Adria. I had to hurry; in winter, the days are really short. I wanted to get to Bonelli and, if the boat bridge was open, reach the beach of Boccasette. I didn’t care that the endless shades of gray dominated due to the lack of sun; the mysterious charm of the Po Delta never fades for me. On the contrary! The always elusive landscapes can never be captured, even after taking a hundred photographs. How many times I’ve wished to live there! Finally, I arrive at the deserted beach with the distant, muffled roar of the waves. It’s like a leap in time. A thousand years ago, it must have all been like this. My thoughts drift back to summer, when the sun turns the beach golden and the colors are intensely bright. All it takes are two orange towels and an umbrella to feel transported to tropical shores. But what are those black shapes? Those huge, stranded trunks? They look like primordial dinosaurs! Perhaps it’s the approaching dusk and the unease it always brings with it