Blueprint For Sandrail

The Valley Canal and Valley of the Court, Pescasseroli to Monte Marsicano

The rock contains everything. The long road that led into the woods dressed in a natural mystery, seemed to be observed by those plants, pareva di essere seguiti passo dopo passo per vedere quale fosse la nostra direzione. Quegli anfratti, quelle cavità, raccontavano storie antiche di secoli, forse millenni, trapassando sogni e antiche nostalgie. Il bosco ci guardava, come nessuno mai avesse fatto prima, perché non solo ci osservava, ma conosceva già la nostra storia. Quella faggeta sopra Pescasseroli era una delle più belle che avessi mai visto. Solo un’altra volta l’avevo percorsa, in autunno, ma me ne ricordavo solo ora. Sembrava assurdo ma riconoscevo la stessa sensazione che provavo allora guardando quegli alberi, quelle rocce, quei tracciati: quel bosco ci osservava ed io l’avevo riconosciuto solo perché now I felt the same thing I felt then! Silence fell on the snow, and when I stopped to listen, did not know whether to feel intimidated or satisfied: all the energy was just for me, with its immense potential, welcomed me to do with breast, aware perhaps that even I understood. trees were harvested from the sky all that energy, they were the focal point, through which, thanks to the thick of their branches they did join with the earth. That was an ancient cosmic dance act of love, and the forest as a cathedral, it contained everything. The Valley of the Court saliva channeled through the trees and snow, they went hand rose on its side walls, while its ditch it messes up jumps, holes and uneven up and down, back to the fun (though difficult). It was not the goal the objective to be pursued, but the path and everything that composes it, because only by living it with love you could go anywhere.