Spring in Rome

Summer in Cala Gorgolu /Sardinia), the place I love

I do not know what spring is; if it is solely pure breath of life waking up after the white chill, in the breast of the ancient earth, I hardly know. It could be the everlasting  dance of life and death, concealed to most and showing itself in the sparkling white of the little daisies and in the dimple blue of the forgetmenots that bloom overnight colouring the green patches of grass in the Eternal City. I do not know what sacred spring is, but I did see it freeing her pink ribbons in the pale blue sky some days ago as I was walking down the Fori imperiali to catch the 85 bus. I saw her softly loosening the pony tails of a group of young flowery girls and in the pic nic that a couple of oldies was taking in the midst of the Colle Oppio park. I saw spring in all her beauty, inviting all creatures to dance at her lovely, scented rhythm. I saw it as the ancient Romans used to see her, picturing her in a lovely goddess of flowers and beauty, a goddess who, as the months passed, flourished and bloomed to become the Goddess Vesta…

She was the one to whom the vestals, the only nuns that ancient Rome ever had in her old days of love and splendor, kept the fire burning for, the fire, Ermes, the link of love that unites heaven and earth. The head of the Vestals was so powerful in Rome that she only could stroll in the Eternal City, lying on a cart. Just like the emperor, who was the Pontifex Maximus. He who builds bridges with the Gods beyond. The Pontifex Maximus and the mother Vestal together followed the rituals, being one and all, together, the great way that lead to the divine. And Vesta gave her lovely name to the Italian noun for summer: Estate. Spring is now knocking on the door, young Vesta (in the flowery dress of Libera), will soon become Vesta, the lady of the golden wheat, smiling to the sun, in the deep blue skies of a new summer…