Sirmione, my dear, where have you been? The Gardasee is no more.
Everywhere begins to look like someplace I’ve already been.
This lake is not the same as the first time I swam in it, though – to be sure – I took my dip on the far side from here. The years are on the move, the nature cycles onwards, with the ever changing patterns, currents, and ripples still course through the watery depths.
The only true constant is change.
Thousands of bodies have carried the lake to shore drip by drip. The sky steals its waves for the rain. What luck, the lake I knew before is gone, and the life I knew before with it. Serendipity strikes the surface tension like lightning.
Sirmione, my dear, where have you been? I could have sworn I was here once before.
