Passions & Places


Country Life

The landscape changes at every season, and the regular fabric of the cultivated fields either becomes clearer, or fades away in the rugged surface of the recently ploughed and fertile land. 

One may come to believe that the inhabitants of these lands, who have always worked as farmers, have reached an agreement to give the most suitable shade of colour to their land strips so that they are in harmony with the surroundings.

Living in these places means discovering new and intense beauties, learning to know the rhythms of nature and men in harmony, rejoicing at the aromas brought by the wind, getting astonished when seeing a grey heron that stops in the meadow before resuming its long migration, or waiting patiently for the porcupine to move slowly, weighed down by its stings.

The sun rises and everything seems to stop, ready to give a silence full of sounds, the sound of leaves caressed by the breeze and the love calls of joyful swifts. 

One may almost believe one is able to hear the sounds of ants, which are busy with their mysterious activities and are tickling the bark of an ancient oak. 

It is nice to warm oneself in front of the fireplace during cold winter afternoons, while the inhabitants talk about their lives. Their lives are so full of events, that they could fill the pages of many books. 

These people are able to narrate their extraordinary stories with an unparalleled frankness.

The farmers living in the Marches are special people, they are both curious and kind with newcomers, untiring and eclectic in carrying out various tasks, sincere and loyal in their everyday relations with other people. 

They are also very hospitable, having an inborn sense of large families ready to welcome those passing by.

Nights are different in this countryside. The stars can still indicate the right way to those willing to take notice; the stars illuminate the shadows of the hills, barely interrupted by feeble, faraway lights of sleeping hamlets. T

omorrow a new, even more enchanting picture, will be there, framed by the windows, waiting for me to wake up.





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