Folio 85ff1c53
Italiano
The starling on the canal-wall tilts its head not at the water but at the reflection of the willow, as though the tree’s shadow were a second bird that must be watched before deciding whether to drink. The water does not hold still—it breathes, it ripples, it remembers the passage of the barge two hours ago. Ecco. The bird leaps into the air, yet the shadow remains, darker than the twilight, waiting. The hand does not tremble now; it simply rests against the page, feeling the ink dry.
English
The starling on the canal-wall tilts its head not at the water but at the reflection of the willow, as though the tree’s shadow were a second bird that must be watched before deciding whether to drink. The water does not hold still—it breathes, it ripples, it remembers the passage of the barge two hours ago. Ecco. The bird leaps into the air, yet the shadow remains, darker than the twilight, waiting. The hand does not tremble now; it simply rests against the page, feeling the ink dry.
