la parola condizione

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Ho un'inquietudine distruttiva che oggi mi tormenta, ma magari è solo invidia verso il forte vento di fuori, che se ne corre dove vuole.

Per la strada volano foglie e rami. Forse qualche segnale stradale, mal bilanciato, è caduto di lato con un suono rimbombante. D'impulso vorrei gettare il computer dalla finestra - guardarlo o no precipitare - non importa. Infilare il cappotto e mettere i guanti: mi vedo camminare fuori, con il bavero alzato.
E vado dritto. Sempre dritto.
Le foglie che vedevo svolazzare dalla grande finestra del secondo piano, ora mi seguono come piccoli cuccioli addomesticati. Mi superano per poi fermarsi ad aspettare. Io ho la bocca completamente infilata nel colletto ed il naso scoperto per metà. Gli occhi socchiusi dalla polvere, mentre l'animo percepisce odore di fumo, come libertà che brucia.
Infilo le mani in tasca per scaldare le dita, ma il cuore è già caldo. Chiudo gli occhi e li riapro.

Lo faccio di nuovo. Stavolta, però, il computer è ancora lì. Intatto. Io sono nuovamente alla mia scrivania.
Il vento è già arrivato in un'altra città.


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