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The Gentle Side of Van Canna!

by George Mattson
The Gentle Side of Van Canna. . .

Sussurra La Sera …Whispers the evening…

I’ll try to describe the sensation.

field of dreams
This ‘urban feeling’ made of black asphalt and street lamp-posts that challenge the night to a duel.

Brilliant sentries of the night that constrict and dim in the instant two brilliant car’s headlights lash the iris of your eyes habituated to penumbra.

A dreamy boulevard_ made of sidewalks that slide under the soles of your shoes_ of shadows that slink along the dirty walls, a path made of sad city lights that exist in slices of a black sky _ feebly illuminated by a handful of stars and a chunk of moon arguing with the clouds.

{ Moments in memory clamor to be acknowledged as you walk…a night on an ocean liner’s deck…ships’ lights distant on a flat sea meshing with twinkles of far away lands…a lighthouse’s beacon, shining beyond the silent black mantle, morosely pointing the ways of lost men looking for a harbor

-Click on James Dean picture to view The Bohemian Cafe Thread –


….and your beloved city with her voice, now barely a moan…whispering… Goodbye…to a young man without a country moving through destiny…and what destiny… if you only knew the portent of the meeting of that beautiful young countess on board…the why of her insistence to know you, to be with you, to sing to you, and now waiting for you down below with her raven long hair tossed over her right shoulder.}


You advance rapidly on the cement, as a shadow … son of this city that sends you away from it all without ever having had you reach any set destination, in perfect synchrony with its whispered breathing and words that slice the air as arrows without body and as fired by an archer without a face.

Your thoughts bounce quickly from one side of the street to the next in this deserted angle of your mind… yet seduced by the soft whispers that come and go in captivating offerings of your excited and receptive senses.

An alternating of mysterious sounds without body that swirl in your brain as though plugged into an emotional mixer.

But wait…the happy chatter of a group crossing your path…the deep throat exhaust of a powerful car swishing by…you love the sound of the tires caressing the asphalt with that ‘scalpiccio’ _ a cable car’s electric squeal as it brakes in the distance… the murmur of a soft wind disturbing somnolent leaves in a poplar tree…the monotony of the tangential connector on the horizon that, with closed eyes, you could also exchange it for the sound of the ocean.

And suddenly the smack of a humid kiss reaches your ears. Yes… no doubt about it…it is really a kiss …gentle… a kiss that floats lightly in the breeze of the evening and grazes your face as a cold blade.

There for an instant …you are shaken…a marked discord with the synchrony of the senses of the moment…and in that instant you are overtaken by a subtle uneasiness that slides along your back bone and then vanishes in a shiver. You stop…you look around…you know…you just know…

Anew your rapid steps on the sidewalk… again a shadow that slinks incognito in the whispers of the evening.

Van Canna

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