Beyond the glass

A pane of glass to separate time

Beyond it, Parma rested silent beneath the April light.

[photo dated 2025-04-25]

From within the Pilotta, behind a pane of glass, I let my gaze drift across the rooftops of Parma.

The ochre-hued tiles, warmed by the sun, formed an uneven tapestry that seemed to shift gently beneath the clear April sky.

In the distance rose familiar silhouettes: the bell tower of San Giovanni Evangelista, the campanile of the Cathedral, and, a little further to the right, the tower of San Paolo.

The time-worn surfaces, the faded bricks, the slanted rooftops all painted a portrait of a city that lives on without ever quite forgetting its past.

Inside the great building, silence reigned almost absolute.
Through the glass, Parma appeared suspended: an ancient, gentle city stretched out beneath the sun, as if awaiting a new story to be told.

As I composed the shot, it felt as though the April light itself was humming a silent melody, suspended between rooftops and towers.

Threading through the moment was Tracey Thorn’s voice, delicate and haunting, singing By Piccadilly Station I Sat Down and Wept.

Recorded in 1982 in a manner both simple and unvarnished, the song appeared on an EP of the same name, released by the independent Cherry Red Records.

The title draws inspiration from Elizabeth Smart’s poetic novel, and the song reflects the same atmosphere: intimate, fragmented, and quietly aching.

With sparse instrumentation — a modest guitar line and muted touches of keyboard — Tracey’s voice does not so much sing as breathe life into a soundscape both fragile and resonant.

In that instant, behind the ancient glass of the Pilotta, watching Parma unfold in the light, it seemed less a song and more the city’s own heartbeat: slow, enduring, and steadfast.  

No other words were needed. Only that music, settling as softly as sunlight across the old rooftops. 

Thus, between glass and light, between sound and memory, Parma offeredf me yet another fragment to treasures.