A natural frame

Sometimes it only takes a small lean forward, finding the right gap between the leaves, and your gaze opens up to a familiar scene that suddenly feels new. 

[photo dated 2025-04-19]

It’s a bright morning in Parma, and the Fontana di Barriera Repubblica rises silently behind a green curtain. A narrow passage between neatly trimmed hedges becomes a frame — a temporary shelter from the rhythm of the city.

The sound of water blends with the quiet passing of trams and the scent of the first gelatos of the day. From the outdoor space of the ice-cream parlour, the world seems to slow down, as if everything is suspended for a moment.

Sunlight touches the leaves with a gentle hand, and even time feels less impatient. There in the distance, the water lifts like a steady breath, unaware of traffic, thoughts, or the changing seasons.

Everything is light and freshness, like a thought taking shape while waiting for an ice-cream — perhaps the first of the season, perhaps the usual favorite.

Composed by Ludovico Einaudi in 2004, “Una Mattina” (“One Morning”) gives its name to the album that marked a more personal and introspective turn in his work. Built on a circular harmonic progression, it unfolds with subtle rhythmic and dynamic variations, like a breath expanding and retreating.

The left hand holds a steady ostinato, while the right hand draws a fragile, almost hesitant melody. It’s music that doesn’t demand attention or raise its voice — it simply stays close.

Widely known thanks to the film “The Intouchables,” here it seems to return to its original dimension — intimate, silent, and full of quiet expectancy.