San Lorenzo

For many years San Lorenzo made me think of a sad poem that the Italian writer Giovanni Pascoli wrote. He spoke of a swallow being killed while trying to feed its toddlers. And he spoke of a man being killed by robbers on his way to see his family after a long travel. That man was his own father. The meteor shower that is visible in those nights was therefore seen by him as if the sky was crying, looking at the tiny evil atom the Earth is.

 
I went with my good fellow Pixarians up on the hills above Berkeley, on Volmert Peak. From there you could have a great view of this tiny atom of evil, from above. But the view looks not evil at all. The usual fog for once was far below us and the little cities of the East Bay transformed it into a misty sea of lights. We watched in awe this ocean below us, and the rain of stars above us. The sky did not seem to cry, it rather seemed like it was playfully trying to reach for us, and we playfully tried to catch with our glimpse as many stars as we could, while enjoying some drinks and playing virtual ocarinas until not long before sunrise.
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