Music

When music becomes poetry, it moves sinuously between the folds of the soul. You feel it arrive in the ravines of the heart to nourish, quenching that perennial desire for beauty that does not go away except in some moments. Rare, precious, priceless. 
Richard Galliano’s accordion tonight in Monteriggioni made me breathe the French rain and the red skirts of the Tanjawa (women of Tangier) in the Argentine barrios. He made me dance in the world of this extraordinary artist until he left me happy with his hands skinned by much applauding, bewitched. Moved. A meal of love full of wonder. An hour and a half in concert that seemed like a minute and an emotion that will last forever. Thanks Richard. Really