I was a bit of my days at the village in the province of Naples.
fifteen years now I live in Verona and Naples, I do not miss too much: I have a love / hate relationship with my hometown.
Every time we come back, though, I am struck by the color of the earth: the campaigns of I come, in fact, are not grown organically and tidy as is the case in the north, but they have something that I kidnaps a certain desolation that asks to be lived and breathed deeply.
E 'is my mother to begin to discover the mysteries of this land.
children and grandchildren gathered on Sunday and started the adventure, around forests, mountains and green plains.
She, moreover, had lived much of his childhood and adolescence in the midst of the campaign: on a farm just outside the village where they lived all their relatives.
grandparents worked the land and have a love for simple things. I too was a child I often went to the farm and I remember yet the spell that the country could send: the laundry hung out to dry, the hens that hopped in the farmyard, the taste of toasted corn, and the wonder of the starry sky, the fields that only you can grasp in all its grandeur .
I never forgot the land and even today, whenever I can, I return to rediscover those feelings never dormant.
Contact with nature has the extraordinary power of regeneration: I like discovering new places every time, hidden ravines, steep slopes, where no one has ever been, in the silence of the woods and listen to the voice of creation that the whispers in my ear mystery of the world.
