Meeting in Positano by Goliarda Sapienza

 

"My memory grows dark as I think back on that sultry August afternoon full of extreme confessions. What happened after that annoying parenthetical directed at me? The dark of forgetfulness, which is always grayish, full of twisting fog, was wiped away by the dazzling, assured stroke of black varnish of the Positano nights, when everything turns quiet to sense the melodious smells of jasmine and herbs coming from the countless gardens. Even the sea grows silent, overpowered by the incredibly fragrant smells of the Coast."