You cannot flee what you are

You cannot flee what you are - II

To my friend Corrado, unforgettable

The old man follows the structures of his thoughts when he considers her. The structures surface in the emerging light of his soul, undeniably.
He is Italian, an Italian of seventy, a vigorous seventy, a writer.
He has come to Vilnius to lecture for a small but discerning circle of readers.
His way of looking at her, in the embryonic gleam he saw in the woman taking form, could seem too dry and severe but it was incisive, in a way that made him a distinct enough personage in her eyes.
But how did the two of them come to meet?
The invitation had come from The Italian Culture Institute that staged monthly lectures, and she happened to be the directress. Þæt wæs ġehæp“that was fitting, it was appropriate to be.
All that happens fits to happen in the form that is convenient to happen.

The pieces fell into place, as they do, in ways that seem random but are not.

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