always dear to me was this lonely hill, And this hedge, which has so much / last horizon prevents me
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very cold and very sunny day: perfect light to photograph and to think.
Do you understand why even in a holy book, dear to 'the West, face acts of creation begin with a "LET THERE BE LIGHT" (at least in older books, inspired by Mesopotamia, before those talkative and cerebral Greeks ran with a "In the beginning was the Word. "The verb is the Man, the new cult, the light is the Sun, the ancestral worship).
And in these days that a Border Marches like me, an 'inhabitant Coastal constantly rocked by the lullaby marina, can see the majesty of the mountains: and tops! the Gran Sasso.
Despite almost one hundred kilometers apart, and Siino invisible for most of the year, these days those peaks soar me and I enjoy my home, from my shelter, and covered only a few antenna dish, as the hedge of my fellow Leopardi, the prevents me .
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So in this / immensity my thought is drowned: / and sweet to shipwreck in this sea
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the voice of my wife brings me back to civilization everyday ... maybe it was not the lament of the sea ...
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