in
Craters The grass of my lawn is stuck in the perennial dance of time. The water that moved it, when it covered the bottom of the sea, still moves it as it brushes my knees, in spirit. The fish have been replaced by bees, and its shoots by slim trees. This extinct pond, my garden’s alter-ego Is the outline of an old print, which we neither can see, of where once a foot – that of a dinosaur, I mean – treaded lightly, before it was just missed by an asteroid. Whoopsie. Too bad I doubt we’ll be missed, by an asteroid or Earth, when we finally leave. MARGHERITA VOLPATO 28
