San Lorenzo’s night (in English)

The Night When Italians Look Up at the Sky

There is one summer night when, almost without realising it, we all do the same thing.

We step outside. We move away from the lights. We look for a dark patch of sky and, for a few minutes, we look up.

It is the night of San Lorenzo.

It doesn’t matter how old we are, where we live, or how rational we may be for the rest of the year. For one evening, when we see a shooting star, we all become children again.

And there is something deeply Italian about this gesture.

The Italian Year Has a Rhythm of Its Own

In Italy, time is not simply made up of months, weeks and days. It is made up of traditions and celebrations.

In January comes La Befana. Then Carnival, Easter, April 25th, local festivals, San Giovanni, Ferragosto… and then September, with grapes and the harvest, olives and olive oil, All Souls’ Day… and winter. In December come Christmas, nativity scenes, lights and traditional sweets.

Every season of the year brings something to do, something to eat, something to tell and, often, something to remember.

These traditions help us measure time in a different way.

We don’t simply say, “It’s August.”

We say, “It’s the night of San Lorenzo.”

And suddenly August is no longer just a page on the calendar. It is a warm night, a star-filled sky, a chair outside the house, and a wish to make.

Perhaps this is the true value of traditions: they turn the passing of time into something we can recognise.

They remind us that, while the years change and we change with them, some things return.

And when they do, they make us feel at home.

But Why Do We Still Look at the Stars?

According to popular tradition, the streaks of light across the sky are “the tears of San Lorenzo”, shed by the saint during his martyrdom.

We know the scientific explanation: what we call shooting stars are the Perseids, tiny fragments that enter the Earth’s atmosphere between August 11th and 13th, creating those beautiful streaks of light.

But for Italians, above all, they remain stars to which we entrust a wish.

And there is something quite remarkable about that.

Because when we see one cross the sky, we make a wish.

And perhaps that is the most fascinating part of all.

Why Do We Still Need Wishes?

We live in an age when we believe we can control almost everything.

We plan trips months in advance. We can speak to someone on the other side of the world within seconds. We can find an answer to almost any question.

And yet, when faced with a tiny light crossing the sky for just an instant, we return to something very ancient:

we make a wish.

Why?

Perhaps because a wish is different from a plan. A plan depends on us.

A wish, at least partly, does not.

A wish contains something we cannot completely control: hope.

And perhaps that is exactly why we still need them.

We all have something we would like to change, to find again, or someone we would like to have beside us. Some wishes are enormous. Others are wonderfully simple.

And the wishes we never tell anyone about are probably the most important of all.

So, when a streak of light crosses the sky, for one brief moment we allow ourselves to believe that anything is still possible.

And So We Make a Wish

The beautiful thing is that no one asks us to tell anyone what it is.

In fact, according to tradition, you mustn’t say your wish out loud, or it might not come true.

And perhaps that is for the best.

Because on that night we can sit quietly, look at the sky and keep that little secret to ourselves.

Maybe we are in a village in Calabria, sitting outside a family home.

Maybe we are in Tuscany, in a garden.

Maybe we are by the sea, listening to the sound of the waves.

Or perhaps we are far away from Italy.

But if we are Italian, or if we have learnt to love Italy, we know that this is one of those nights when we look up.

And for a few minutes, the sky becomes something we all share.

Traditions Remind Us Who We Are

Perhaps it isn’t important to truly believe that a star can make a wish come true.

What matters is that we continue to wish.

Because a tradition is not simply something old that we repeat without reason.

It is a thread connecting the past with the present, allowing us to imagine the future.

So tonight, when darkness falls, try switching off the lights, step outside and look at the sky.

Wait.

Perhaps you will see a shooting star.

Perhaps you won’t.

But in the meantime, you will have done something human beings have been doing for thousands of years:

looked at the sky and hoped.

And if a star happens to cross the sky at that very moment, don’t forget to make your wish.

It doesn’t matter whether you truly believe in it.

Because, deep down, having a wish means that, somewhere inside us, there is still something that hopes.