Cora Sandel - ENG, Prove d'esame di Letteratura

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The Child Who Loved Roads Mosr or att she loved roads with the solitary track of a horse down the middle and with grass between the wheel ruts. Narrow old roads with lots of bends and nobody else around and here and there a piece of straw perhaps, fallen from a load of hay. The child turned springy and light as air on them, filled with happiness at breaking free, at existing. Bel ind each bend waited unknown possibilities, however many times you'd gone down the road. You could make them up yourself if nothing else. Down the highway she walked, dragging her feet in dust and gravel. Dust and gravel were among the bad things in life. You got tired, hot, heavy, longed to be picked up and carried. Then suddenly the narrow old road was there, and the child began to run, leaping high with happiness. She hadn't been so tired after all, the grown-ups said. There's a lot grown-ups don't understand. You have to give up explaining anything to them and take them as they are, an inconvenience, for the most part. No one should grow up. No, children should stay children and rule the whole world. Every- thing would be more fun and a lot better then. Early on the child learned that it was best to be alone on the road. A good ways in front of the others anyway. Only then did you come to know the road as it really was, with its marks of wheels and horses hooves, its small, stubborn stones sticking up, its shifting lights and shadows. Only then did you come to know the fringes of the road, warm from sun and greenness, plump and furry with wild chervil and lady’s mantle — alto-