Lettera: Finale Ligure, 30 Settembre 2007


My dear,

I’ve been working for days over my very first film, Baltic flight. I am to finish it definitively by the end of November when it is projected during a festival in Milan. I guess you’re not surprised at this topic of mine: I’ve got some inborn flair for escaping, you know.
I’ve been all over the woods round here today to find the places where to shoot the last scenes. With it, some new dream has unravelled itself: a thick, tall tree before our wooden house, soaked in the Baltic night, the dark, windy one, raising images from the snow. You’re at the piano and play, I am sunk into an armchair and watch the light whiteness accumulates on the steps, the tree sway after the wind.
The light goes suddenly off. You stop: your last notes are dropped, the snow goes on scraping on the roof outside. I stand up and walk to you, kiss your forehead, the tips of your fingers, sip the last silent music from its very source, like at a frozen drinking-fountain. We do not speak. We’re all part of this, beauty and forgetfulness. And is this our first unforgettable dream, cut between you and me, over and over? Some other day one of us may demand a little more joy in it.

Tuo Federico


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