The tale Fishes red, fishes blue was born in a way less "adventurous" compared to Brisca at Internet superstore’s.
It is obvious that aspect and implication accidentals are always involved in writing of a project narrative but, after having explored with Brisca the world of virtuality and the dream, I say to myself, if I had never written a second text for children, I would have liked dealing with a thematic closer to the problems of our society and observe the modus operandi, behaviourals, philosophies, the apatihies and the fears which dragged inside our, often embarrassed, "Wellness".

Jonathan Swift with "Travel Gulliver' aroused my interest at scenographic level but, in the same time, I was restrained as I was looking for a treatment of the matter with images softened from the smiling filter of an ironic vision, without excessive paraphrases.
Easy to say, but hard to do, because in my hands I had any specific subject , I was indecided in search of a leitmotif, a plot and, above all, of the characters.

An opportunity to better delineate the structure of the story was solved at the railway station in Imperia Porto Maurizio.

I waited my wife arriving from Turin. The train, of course, was late and, to while away the time, I strolled up and down along the platform.
A large crowding of immigrants, probably directed to France, shared my same wait. Many of them were North Africans, but many were migrants Eastern Europe, especially Romanian with suitcases, luggage and families.

Among them I observed a boy, a little more of a child, who played the flute of pan with sweet notes and melancholy; when he noticed that I was to listen, turned scarlet and stopped playing.

But I also remember the surreal wide Delta of the Danube, the gardens in Tulcea, the incomparable frescoes of the monasteries in Moldova: Suceava, Humor with the Dormition of the Virgin, Sucevita, and especially Voronet with blue tree of Jesse. And then the cottages of countryside with empty bottles stuck in poles to report to lads the presence of a girl suitable for marriage.

It was in Bucharest that I met Gelu, a fine figure of a man with a beautiful pair of moustaches; he was he the first to speak to me about Gheorghe Zamfir when in the West Europe was still almost unknown. I hear the sound of his flute, the magic of its vibrations on popular tunes: beautiful, sweet and tormenting as sunsets on the beaches of the Black Sea, and sad as they were sad eyes of children when, after dusk, exited from underground to rummage in dustbin garbage looking for nothing.

At the announcement of a further delay of the train, I collected all these "Amarcord" (souvenirs), and I directed my steps towards the gardens of the station. Here, between the hedges of false jasmine and bushes of bordering Palm, there is a beautiful fishpond with a colony of red fishes swimming between the water lily.

It is funny to look at them while laze under the stagnant waters waiting for a generous traveller drops them a piece of bread. Who knows how it is below? Really all is a bed of roses ? And ifin the half-light, a family of blue fishes were appeared out of nowhere?