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- Author: Alessandro Baruffi
- Publisher: INDEPENDENTLY PUBLISHED
- Year: 2018
- Pages: 66
- ISBN-10: 1980524955
- ISBN-13: 9781980524953
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 0.4 cm, softcover
- Language: English
- SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA
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Description
Like a pilgrim, or a spiritual vagrant, crisscrossing the country-always rolling on the very fabric of the continent: westwards and eastwards, to the eternal oceans, and from the northern vast plains down through the Appalachian, to the deep recesses of the lowlands, to the swamps-infallibly enough I would always return to my dwelling in Princeton. Many a time the lonely night was devoted to the contemplation of the moon of New Jersey, as I licked the wounds of a sore soul. I always wondered, how different that pale, ghostly circle of a moon was, from the one I encountered elsewhere above the magnificent land that I had been scampering about, and from the lost moon of my childhood. Yet, with adulthood-or maturity-seeing at last the rise and fall of earthling matters, I would flinch, my heart recoiling, as from something unpleasant. Thus, through the jaundiced, estranged buoy in the sky, I would recall past memories, and hold out my quivering hand to reach over to the always-receding mysteries of existence.
The promotion ends in 
- Author: Alessandro Baruffi
- Publisher: INDEPENDENTLY PUBLISHED
- Year: 2018
- Pages: 66
- ISBN-10: 1980524955
- ISBN-13: 9781980524953
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 0.4 cm, softcover
- Language: English English
Like a pilgrim, or a spiritual vagrant, crisscrossing the country-always rolling on the very fabric of the continent: westwards and eastwards, to the eternal oceans, and from the northern vast plains down through the Appalachian, to the deep recesses of the lowlands, to the swamps-infallibly enough I would always return to my dwelling in Princeton. Many a time the lonely night was devoted to the contemplation of the moon of New Jersey, as I licked the wounds of a sore soul. I always wondered, how different that pale, ghostly circle of a moon was, from the one I encountered elsewhere above the magnificent land that I had been scampering about, and from the lost moon of my childhood. Yet, with adulthood-or maturity-seeing at last the rise and fall of earthling matters, I would flinch, my heart recoiling, as from something unpleasant. Thus, through the jaundiced, estranged buoy in the sky, I would recall past memories, and hold out my quivering hand to reach over to the always-receding mysteries of existence.
Reviews