Wild Strawberries

by Federica Cocciro

What connect a human being to a place? How much can a place influence who I am? Is it possible to bring to life an ended time? I’m searching today what remains. I collect metonymies of an unrepetable past. I’m trying to pin down the people who make this time and place perfect, wild strawberries growing in a terrible and beautiful land. When I think at this personal andlong-term project, I always remind a Wordsworth’s sonnet:

“…Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind…”