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The beautiful cross-country Terminillo

Le piste di sci da fondo del Terminillo sono così belle, così curate e così ben tenute da lasciare perplessi al fatto che nonostante questo ottimo servizio siano anche completamente gratuite. Mantenute sotto l’amministrazione provinciale Rieti are a wonderful example of how you can keep putting it to good result in the best manner possible. This is Italy, which I like. The bad weather we had yesterday forced to give up to come here, because the snow conditions were not ideal for skated to the bottom, but this morning was a beautiful day, so nice to us aside to meet all commitments along these tracks. I was thrilled to experience the skating equipment, I was convinced immediately fun being able to keep the balance well, given the past skater. But how wrong I was. The fund skating is one of the hardest sports there can be, because it consists essentially of a technique so perfect and complete is reached only after much practice. Always looking for balance all wrong movements, bringing every muscle contraction in the body. I struggled a lot trying to align myself. I came here with those who knew the sport and practiced it for years told me that the most important thing was to learn the technique in the right way, step by step, because if you learned the wrong way would have been next to impossible to fix errors. A late morning I realized to make some moves in the right way because I felt less fatigue, and this thing made me happy. I think this sport really brings so much satisfaction, me and the insistence to learn is there.

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Night and elsewhere

The night is able to decode the feelings of childhood, to stir up fear of the dark by the dormant growth. That comparison is so pure as an unconscious and inexplicable oblivion, where the only thing to do is to be welcome. But it is not easy to get rid of all this, we are too defenses built to find and apply immediately this channel as directed. sensitivity facilitates the perception, but despite this there is always processed. Yet this comparison is the thing più naturale e antica del mondo: è un dialogo tra noi e l’infinito, tra noi e la nostra più materna dimensione ancestrale, tra noi e quell’antichissimo limbo contenitore di anime. Tra noi e la notte. L’ altrove è quella dimensione. Tutto quello che non vediamo ci fa paura, perché si veste di un silenzio assordante aggregatore di ombre. Bisogna accostarsi a tutto questo per definire meglio i nostri pensieri, per riconoscersi, per capire un po’ di più dove finisce la nostra anima e comincia l’Universo.

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Cyclopean walls of touring on Cansatessa

“La Source Willow is located in a valley that is tax dell'arcuato fùssu she walled, which is the lowest part of the long and steep watershed that begins with the malle cascia . The name of this stretch of valley drift remains of two large megalithic walls, made of dry, which lie on either side of the ditch (750 m), locally called the Devil Murata or Murata Fairy " ( cit. ) . For centuries, the mystery of these huge stones that formed the bulwark had been trying to find logic in several hypotheses:   alcune sostenevano che si trattasse delle mura di cinta dell’antica Amiternum (o addirittura le costituenti della stessa acropoli), altre che fossero i resti della struttura di un ponte che collegasse Pitinum con Amiternum; altre ancora, invece, sostenevano che l’enorme muraglia fosse stata eretta per segnare il confine tra i Sabini e i Vestini. Ai Sabini in modo particolare si legavano anche altre curiose interpretazioni che vedevano tale luogo come il loro palcoscenico ideale dove compiere riti propiziatori e sacrifici cruenti, legati al culto del “ver sacrum” . Quest’ultima immagine si legava bene alla suggestione locale: ho letto che gli abitanti del posto da sempre affermavano che in condizioni di forte vento pareva che la murata ululasse , producendo suoni impressionanti al limite della comprensione. Ovviamente tutte queste ipotesi sono carenti di riscontri storici, l’unica cosa certa è che la datazione di questa inspiegabile murata corre dietro a noi di Tremila anni. A guardala da vicino mi lasciava esterrefatta, quelle pietre erano davvero enormi e perfettamente ben assemblate tra loro: come avevano fatto Tremila anni fa a trasportarle fin lì e a disporle a secco in maniera così perfetta? Era un progetto difficile da realizzare ai nostri giorni (quasi impossibile considerando la collocazione ambientale), come avevano fatto loro? I dubbi erano davvero tanti. The inexplicable, however, gave an absolute charm to the thing, because your mind to make the interpretations. The very thick vegetation around there hand hand closed almost all of the steps, it was not at all easy to identify and reach this place, the traces of the trail is often lost in the great walls of gorse and juniper, boxwood and oak trees. But maybe that's a good thing that Mother Nature is incorporating all back to himself, not allowing the mass to reach such a place, preserving and protecting ignorance and rudeness.

Delle Mura treated: G. Simelli , route Journal, 1810, Miss. Library in Paris; FK Klenze , in: Amalthea, t. III, pp. 78-110, O. Gerhard in Aica t. 1, 1829, P.187; CK Bunsen, in Annals , VI (1834), pp. 34 ff; G. Martelli, Antiquities of Sicoli 1835; K. Craven, Excursions in the Abruzzi, 1, 1838, p.218; WL Abeken , Mittel-Italien vor den Zeiten der r ö Mischen Herrshaft , 1843, p. 86: A. Leosini , Historical Monuments, 1848, p.. 240-241; N. Persichetti , advanced manufacturing Pelasgian Amiternina in the countryside, in Biagi, Sec. Roma XVII (1902), pp. 134-148. This bibliography on the Murata Marinangeli was drawn by the researcher and reported by Prof. Carl Tobias in the notes of "Out the door the mountain."

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Bald Mountain Valley Mara da Fonte Crovella

Under the Tramontana wind conditions seem to alter much, although the snow had come the Gran Sasso appeared as an insurmountable bulwark. The winds swept over and shape the top of the mountains at their leisure, creating snow conditions are so different as to seem the same despite different originally exposure. Bald Mountain was safer on the mountain where we could go. Hand they climbed met very different snow conditions, but the place was always the one : can a few feet away you encounter snow conditions are so different? Easily switch to the icy snow, dust more steam to slabs of ice from the dry well and that allowed light to heavy to slide sticking. Even some open spaces were completely cleaned by the wind, discovered the frozen ground and the stones, so the ice frosted to look like white coral on the seabed. Giving attention to all these things was really difficult for someone like me , has just started to do cross country skiing. But it was probably difficult for everyone. Among the slopes, fog, rocks hidden flush with snow as the junipers with their infamous cursed tubes (I know because there are finite in), the icy surfaces and trees, I did not know which saint pray. And never forget that meeting took place in the romantic forest between me and Oak, who with his arm on my line gave me a sound whipping on her face. What a pain. But despite all this I would not change the day today with nothing in the world. Deep down in the end, stress survival aside, today I really enjoyed it! I hit a lot of the beauty all the views encountered: I was not ever climb from Source Crovella, this was for me a new way to learn about Bald Mountain. The fog evaporate the environment giving evanescent veils, and the wood under this lens became beautiful because it resembles the portrait of the setting of a fairy tale: the magic came out of their depth than those intangibles. The calaverna are modeled on each of those branches, with an endless series of billions and billions of tiny ice needles. Everything is a whitewashing of unique gifts, mysterious solemn and beautiful. Bald Mountain is a mountain really special.

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The snow was wound up in the trees, making them bow to his supremacy, smoothing a calm and majestic path that was clothed in silence and peace. Everything was felt cozy and sweet, as if it had been felt for the first time. However, I could distinguish the sound of individual flakes, seemed to crackle in contact with my face. Mara Valley (or Valley Amara) was an area very dear to the inhabitants of Tornimparte, otherwise known as paper, rose from the area above the Cerasolo Vaccamorta up. White White a white monochrome that diminished each thing reminded me of the charm of a dream and a suite for cello. The bad weather turned everywhere, leaving only the calm in the woods. Here the snow level down, put down, saved by wind and quiet. Only later did the movement of air would come here too, but not now, now everything was lovingly prepared and calibrated on a subtle balance. These branches were so laden with snow from touching the ground, it seemed to pay tribute to our passage, so bow down to us. From time to time were freed again their extension into the sky, their command, their elevation to the quarry based heavenly that even per un attimo ha smesso di far nevicare. Come era bella la neve, la guardavo dal basso venirmi incontro con il suo fare incerto, sembrava una danza, ed io ne ero partecipe; ero lì e la guardavo, assistendo ad uno dei miracoli più belli che Madre Natura potesse esprimere.