Diary from L'Aquila

For decades from my windows I have been seeing every day the skyline of my dear L'Aquila, the fine construction of Collemaggio, the facade and dome of San Bernardino, the long row of houses lining Via XX Settembre. It is the morning of 6 April and the first sun rays touch a different skyline, which I do not recognize. Pieces missing, clouds of dust rising, sirens and flaming lights and the grating sounds of excavators.

My proud city, founded by royal decree with the cooperation of the castles of the valley, is deeply, deeply wounded in her stones, her alleys, her churches and most of all, tragically most of all, her youth, her living pulsing heart of joyous night life, with all the students crowding the portici, the squares, parks and locals, enjoying as it should be their best years, the years when young people are studying and preparing themselves to become lighthouses of our society, grow up children, settle down in their future houses...

My city is crying blood tears, the blood and flesh of victims have mixed with the stones and dust, a dust that was hungry of young lives, as with all those little angels of San Giuliano, now at school with their dear school teacher somewhere in a world faraway from ours.