We were late for the birth of the new world – the bloodied head of the sun was already peeking out of the waters as we ran towards the beach. A half disk with a horizontal line of light hair floating on the sea, it entered the sky with nearly visible speed.
When we got to the edge of the beach, the world was saturated with meaning. We took off our socks in awe and respectfully dipped our toes in the edge of the vast, all-engulfing plane of pink purpled by gently thundering waves.
The other edge was occupied by a sailboat, the sky was full of dancing birds, and I believed that generations of ears sophisticated by postmodernism and sacrilegious ringtones will never make Für Elise ugly.
Ferrara that day was a disappointment – tired after our morning walk, we were falling asleep.
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