(...)
Postbus waited under the plane trees of the square, sniffing the air in the vacuum of the country afternoon. I was leaving seriously for the first time in his life. We had spent the years between those streets and lawns, on the other knew very little.
It was a strange place, Preonzo. Although the valley was the shadow, the campaign was so flat that it becomes a flat country, certainly. This is especially noticeable in winter, the mountains, hidden by mist. They had to invent for the downhill slide because, over the valley, the mountain jump up, impenetrable chestnut and hazel. In June, amid the rolling fields of hay, the first haze faded and the horizon to the south, one could imagine a stretch without relief. The highest point of the country was the outlet of the material, but were not more than ten meters uphill to the plaza. In the downhill, the slide had to push them to get some 'speed, but the most beautiful all paved and there he found himself still as a marble cats.
Only the main road was asphalt, between the stone houses huddled together, the uneven cobblestone driveway and spat in the campaign fund of the road was gravel and clay. Mario had left us hectares of skin between a toma another. He saw the Postal
emerge from the curve of the church, jumped to his feet. Better to be ready before the bus stop, otherwise the Pífaro would not stop, it was dutiful.
went down to Bellinzona, bought Free Press and waited for the train to Airolo. (...)
It was a strange place, Preonzo. Although the valley was the shadow, the campaign was so flat that it becomes a flat country, certainly. This is especially noticeable in winter, the mountains, hidden by mist. They had to invent for the downhill slide because, over the valley, the mountain jump up, impenetrable chestnut and hazel. In June, amid the rolling fields of hay, the first haze faded and the horizon to the south, one could imagine a stretch without relief. The highest point of the country was the outlet of the material, but were not more than ten meters uphill to the plaza. In the downhill, the slide had to push them to get some 'speed, but the most beautiful all paved and there he found himself still as a marble cats.
Only the main road was asphalt, between the stone houses huddled together, the uneven cobblestone driveway and spat in the campaign fund of the road was gravel and clay. Mario had left us hectares of skin between a toma another. He saw the Postal
emerge from the curve of the church, jumped to his feet. Better to be ready before the bus stop, otherwise the Pífaro would not stop, it was dutiful.
went down to Bellinzona, bought Free Press and waited for the train to Airolo. (...)
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