Tribute to the writer Vergílio Ferreira held in his homeland —Melo, Gouveia and Sintra, where he lived. Because the distance from absence to oblivion is great.
The omnipresent pulsation of the water, the fog on the horizon mountains, the dark night: Melo makes Vergílio’s writing even more present. Because a writer does not dissociate himself from what he is, and what he is, he is also what he witnesses and builds him as a person. And there, in the face of accidental evidence, I had an image printed in some microscopic place of the body, in a suspended time that opens space to the dimension of the eternal. Then I hear myself, I recognize myself.