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(Page 1 of 3) DIALOGUE WITH EINSTEIN by BEATRICE CANIOLA BEATRICE CANIOLA
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DIALOGUE WITH EINSTEIN
May 21 ... .99.
And I liked: A quiet day on Thursday, announcing the arrival of a very happy and peaceful weekend. Usually I end Thursday conveyed a paradoxical state almost automatically, euphoric relaxation.
Of course that all would be the perfect move, if and only if, that finally I would be caught in his backyard, swinging me a rocking chair.
That would be now. Caught anything Swing speed and long threads of grass beneath him, kissed my feet sticky. Late midday sun prinserã also be quite fast in my game to grass, lighting up my eyes closed, like a hot tea would Drip over them.
Yes ...., A tea ... I whispered mind, quietness of the garden wilted.
- Tea! Tea! ... At 17.30! ... Oh, he was about to watch the !..., Saris suddenly rocking, touching my reflex wrist, looking clock. Only sling him some time ago, somewhere in the house, eager for as much free.
However intuition told me that he did not have much time. At 17.30 I had to be already there, with all questions prepared.
Had entered the room hurriedly, as if I was again on the first day of the week and ºifonerul rushing me to the mirror, it azvârlii side doors. I do not even count on my hands that I had to, although once the choice of attire for the meeting I would have taken at least one hour. But now, to see: twist.
A narrow path, winding hallucinating in every sense, to connect discrete but surely little corner of my garden with swings of all that is outside it; Fair old, crammed full of stalls, posted in front of homes, what's lay the the one side of the street, unseen until its end.
Along the serpentine, the bucking winding Fair, the other resting unelele glued, colored homes as well as chip, like huge lumps of marmalade, with stalls in the form of flat iron trays filled with everything. There is nothing behind them, other than other homes, to the end, in the distance. And the front wheels, once mobile, the half-gravel-margin, making the crew in a funny kind of boxes.
I could not detach from the sweetness of the place, though I felt during my meeting tumbling over.
I decided to quickly throw my right eye and left-in, including stalls, not linger too long, but still fun to me astâmpãrându peregrina carefree along the streets.
And I see how I would!
Trays chockfull of all kinds of mills, small, and giant, both bitter coffee beans, cinnamon, cloves or pepper, but for large nuts, coconut or fruit of cactus, crank grinder and sertãraº bronze, wood rose or painted porcelain.
Copper Choppers of differing sizes, moving by themselves without any help, Sollinger sewing machines, wheel polished bronze revolving on their own, without having been attained with silver candlesticks seven branches, always giving light, even you have breathed in them, baskets of metal embroidery, chockfull of fruit impossible, because my hand had come through them without them being felt. Glowing orange peel volatile oil had left my fingers to slip through, like I touched a rainbow rays.
Then a lot of Samovars valve, from which flowed continuously ipomee hot tea, that all who strolled up the steps there were enjoying a cup full.
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