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Enmeshed

by Chiara Indelicato (France)

Italy

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By then I had been trying to leave the island twice and yet I was still there. The previous afternoon I had met one of the fishermen and had invited me to come in the morning if I wanted to find some shells. I did go and along with the sunshine, the men of the family arrived from the sea.
By then I had been trying to leave the island twice and yet I was still there. The previous afternoon I had met one of the fishermen and had invited me to come in the morning if I wanted to find some shells. I did go and along with the sunshine, the men of the family arrived from the sea.
In the nets they had laid at night all sorts of fish and shells was to be found, I asked some silly questions and mostly they laughed while sometimes they answered while kept working and selling.
In the nets they had laid at night all sorts of fish and shells was to be found, I asked some silly questions and mostly they laughed while sometimes they answered while kept working and selling.
Over the days I kept on going early in the morning, just to talk, just to grasp the air of the morning when the already deserted island was still asleep. I talked to Roberto when the others were at sea and told him about my dreams when he asked, and he wished he could bring me luck one day.
Over the days I kept on going early in the morning, just to talk, just to grasp the air of the morning when the already deserted island was still asleep. I talked to Roberto when the others were at sea and told him about my dreams when he asked, and he wished he could bring me luck one day.
September is the best summer in Stromboli. The island explodes in colors and in silence. The seagulls accompany the conversations on the beach and the water becomes everyday bluer, clearer. Why would anyone would want to leave such harmony.
September is the best summer in Stromboli. The island explodes in colors and in silence. The seagulls accompany the conversations on the beach and the water becomes everyday bluer, clearer. Why would anyone would want to leave such harmony.
One afternoon still wet from a swim and darker than I was that same morning I run across the island and reached the fishermen’s beach once again. I followed a father and a son fishing, throwing the nets, I watched and kept a silent smile as the shadow of the son projected on the back of the father.
One afternoon still wet from a swim and darker than I was that same morning I run across the island and reached the fishermen’s beach once again. I followed a father and a son fishing, throwing the nets, I watched and kept a silent smile as the shadow of the son projected on the back of the father.

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