Editorial La balandra #13

A deserted beach, the summer has gradually been diluted into a wasteland of sand and hostile wind. The sky announces more storms. This is the anemic landscape that the world often presents, one which must be faced head on. For a writer, a metaphor for the blank page. The good ideas have left, the terror of facing destruction paralyzes him, the possibility of getting it right are far from view, the shadows of those who have accompanied him are now like ghosts, they cloud reason, they drain away the will to initiate moving forward. Man, the writer, knows that in that barren territory there will most likely be no one to console him and nevertheless, hesitating, he takes a step. A word that will help him begin that interior journey towards himself. For himself, or others, he will have to dive to the very bottom, where no one waits for him, where no one encourages him and, in that crazed persistence, some day he will again see what was once his: the splendor of summer, the light that eliminates fear, happiness.

Welcome to another revolution around the sun.

Alejandra Laurencich

Translated by Victoria Pehl Smith, Ph.D.