THE SHOT OF TAIL

corifèa s. f. [female of corifeo]. - In modern dance corps, an artist who stands between the second dancer and the extra, and participates in the choreographic performances with decorative movements and gestures, without dancing.

Scrolling through a beautiful poem by Alda Merini, I visualized this word, unknown to me ... I thought it was the name of some botanical species, perhaps a particular and obsolete flower, as is the Merini ...

But I wanted to be sure that this was the case, also because the name of a flower did not fit into the context. So I searched, in that fantastic source of knowledge, which is the vocabulary. And I understood, the sense of the poet's verses, that she was talking about what her father said to her, about what he advised her ... not to be.

CORIFEA. Wonderful word, unusual and already alone, full of an intense destiny.

The sun is not there today, it peeps through the dark and foggy cloud ... uncertain weather, which conditions my thoughts.

By assonance, I think of erudite words, of those that in themselves collect the thousand nuances, multiple meanings, or the most absolute sentences ...

And so, I think of the words that I have never said, those that I have not been able to pronounce at the right moment, those for which I have perhaps missed one of the trains in my life. Of course it is normal for each of us to rethink and reflect on what we have failed to be, precisely because of that lack of words.

The relief, the depth of our intentions, canceled out by the absence, the shortage of verbs and concepts.

How we will have disappointed our interlocutors, how many hopes we will have broken, how we will have been unfair, pitiless, harassing for them. We will have missed our presence and its meaning, changed their perception, influenced an involution, ruined their and our good intentions ...

There is no way to compensate for the losses suffered or inflicted, because by now too much water has passed under our bridges a priori. Memories mixed, sensations confused, in the incessant, pressing whirlwind of life.

Thats enough. To forgive myself for this bitterness, I wrap myself up well, and go for a walk in the fields. I go to Ottone, the bull, who is waiting to return to normal too, in the middle of the pastures, with his herd.

Today it's cold again. (Sun hurry up, settle down quickly ... or I'll get lost).