This is the second column of our storytelling event devoted to seasons and to the objects defining them. Winter belongs to gloves, protecting items we lose on our way a little too often. Is it simple distracion, or is it something else?

12 February 2022

Glove #2

A warm heart on the inside, a harsh armor on the outside. It’s ironic, it looks like I’m doing an identikit of myself to the police. The truth is that I’m just describing with my loud voice the glove I lost today while I was walking on snow. How is it possible to lose a glove when it’s so cold? It must have happened when I stopped by and drank, I suppose: I took it off to hold the thermos, and after putting everything inside my backpack, I left something that could keep me warm falling on the ground. That’s incredible, isn’t it?

I take care about every single detail. On my office’s desk I display by colour all text markers by colour, according to the topics I’m going to work on the day after. I’m used to ironing my jackets late at night, and even if there’s little light I half-close my eyes to check if there are some creases. And when I travel, I plan everything weeks in avdance, and I can tell you I’ll be going mad if something goes wrong. So, this super-organized, apparently invincible person is me, and I have just lost a FILA glove.

That pair of gloves was a gift by my father. I discovered these mountains with him, when I was stilla child and he knew I needed places in which I could be alone, islands of silence where I didn’t need to deal with anyone. That’s why, through the years, he took me to discover nature – at any time of the day, with any kind of weather; without telling each other, we’ve silently been tracing the cartography of the universe that makes me feel good. That allows me to be all by myself, without having anything under my control.

The sun is starting to go down, it’s time to go back. How am I supposed to tell dad that I lost his beloved glove? Hi, dad, how are you? From this day on, your little girls isn’t flawless anymore. I really had to tell you. As my boots go down deep in the snow, I take a look around to search for that cone made of black fabric. I am all alone on the track, I got a little hope to find it. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m not going to find it at all. Maybe the night and its slow falling will make it disappear without many problems. Hi daddy, today I went to walk in the places we’ve been going through for so many years, and that’s where I lost one of the two black gloves. From this day on, I’m not going to be perfect anymore, or al least I’m not going to pretend I am. And that’s the way it is.


Born in Biella in the foothills of the ltalian Alps, WONNIE is a ski-loving white bear. Because he is from the snow­covered Alps, he is vulnerable to hot weather, and despite his size he has timid personality so he is always blushing. WONNIE is a gentle bear with heart of gold who easily find faults with himself even with small things but never blames others.

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