The terrifying sound of a jet roaring over our heads is becoming a regular occurrence. It is a military exercise but I imagine the terror of it speeding towards a real mission.
The nightmare of hearing a fleet of such monsters heading towards you announcing death in life’s final moments, a chilling thought which haunts me throughout the day, as if someone has stomped on my grave.
Then there are those lines of smoke designed in the heavens above me. Those silent streaks creeping inadvertently without anyone noticing, trawling behind soundless planes.
The sunset reveals long paths who criss-cross one another, like someone talking behind our backs, a hurtful deception which we won’t know about until well after.
They could be innocuous condensation from air conditioning or noxious gas secretly seeping into our ecosystem, together with Etna’s ash and petrochemical plants pollution which creates pockets of cancerous death around the island.
Sicily is still here and Sicilians still withstand it all. Come vuole Dio, as God commands, a destiny out of their fatalistic hands.
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