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Becoming neorealism
One summer a small incident occurred on a visit to my village home that now comes to mind as I write of “neorealism.” After lunch in the courtyard, a man in his sixties appeared, out of nowhere it seemed, decorously clad in a black, over-sized suit and white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. Wordlessly he bowed, smiled, and proceeded to pick off or deadhead the red flowers from the potted geraniums, scattered around the courtyard. “Who is he?’ I asked one of my aunts. “We don’t know,” she said. “He’s been here since the end of the war. He’s harmless. He picks only red flowers.” Nothing more could be got out of her beyond an apologetic shrug. Continue reading → Bev Conover Editor & Publisher Intrepid Report https://www.intrepidreport.com https://www.facebook.com/intrepidreport http://twitter.com/#!/Intrepid_Report [email protected]
Source: http://www.intrepidreport.com/archives/16783
