Folio c04fed24
Italiano
The heron stands in the canal’s shallows, motionless as a shadow cast by a cloud that has already passed. Its reflection trembles not because the water moves, but because the bird’s breath trembles—each slow exhalation rippling the mirror between sky and earth. I count the beats of its throat, measure the angle of its neck against the sinking sun. The numbers are not important. What matters is the heron’s patience, a patience older than my bones, older than the ink on this page. The water darkens. The bird does not.
English
The heron stands in the canal’s shallows, motionless as a shadow cast by a cloud that has already passed. Its reflection trembles not because the water moves, but because the bird’s breath trembles—each slow exhalation rippling the mirror between sky and earth. I count the beats of its throat, measure the angle of its neck against the sinking sun. The numbers are not important. What matters is the heron’s patience, a patience older than my bones, older than the ink on this page. The water darkens. The bird does not.
