Primavera. La stagione inquieta

Poised between the frost of winter and the heat of summer, a time of fragrance, of rain and wind, of despondency and hope, spring is by its very nature restless. To tell of it is to tell of festivals dedicated to life being reborn and of light returning: from the Greeks to the Jews, to the Easter of Christians. But also of armies and merchants – who for centuries waited for the seas to become calm before setting sail again – of revolutions, of rights and conquests. Spring, however, is first and foremost a terrestrial cycle, the equinox, the reawakening of senses and bodies, of flowers, herbs, insects, birds, in an anxiety of desire where everything seems to refer back to something more ancient and profound: perhaps to the origins of the world, to that primordial nature to which our very biology binds us. Spring tells of a kind of yearning nostalgia, of when, at the origins, we and the world were one, bound by the same rhythm and order of things.