This story is part of the literary competition created by In Trieste magazine “Winter in Trieste” which was open to all writers living in Trieste.
by Nina Bonsignore
The wind whirls my hair to and fro,
It stings, like a whip to my face,
My lips turn blue,
And the cold penetrates my defences,
It eats me from inside,
My body is disconnected from my mind,
Its ready to give up,
But I force myself to stand still and watch and listen.
Standing alone on Molo Audace,
The sea sprays my face,
My body recoils,
But in my mind it feels right,
Like a welcoming hug,
Like a warm embrace,
And so I sit,
And I watch,
And I listen.
The waves move erratically,
Called by the wind,
Yet in sync with the sea,
The rain whirls around,
Hitting the ground with such force,
Every drop makes a sound,
You cannot ignore it,
It must not go unnoticed,
When the rain hits the sea,
It turns to a wave,
A wave that then washes over me.
The cold moves with power,
Penetrating every nook and cranny,
Turning rain to ice,
Making every street a slippery slope.
The forces move in unison,
The cold swallows my body,
But that is just as well,
My mind can see what my body cant,
The beauty of,
The Wind,
The Rain,
The Cold,
The Sea,
They all work together,
They create a symphony,
One impossible to ignore or forget,
Waiting for the snow that will never come,
The sense of hopefulness as my eyes scan the sky,
Hoping for a single snowflake,
A single white star in a sea of gray,
And when at last I find it,
It hits the ground and melts,
Just like that.
But in a moment,
If i look hard enough,
I can just spot another one,
Taking its place.
