Dreams guide my steps.

Last night, I did a dance with my fisherman. I know him, I just saw him lecturing and writing on a board using a language that I had never seen before. I get closer, I invite him. He accepts, without reservation. It’s a beautiful twirling in an enormous ballroom. I thank him with a bow, like a ballerina, and leave. 

My book, Ondeia, starts with a dream I made. It is, for me, a new birth in which warm voices, wide smiles and the sound of the sea in the background are fused together.

It's a book about my experience with the fishermen in Southern Italy. It’s in Italian, but it will available in English, too.

[...] at six ’o clock in the morning of an unspecified day in August, he carried me straight in front of the mooring of his passerella for that day’s long ride. [...]


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