November rain There were a few weeks raining without stop. Not this kind of rain strong and fast which hurts you and makes the soil run downhill, but this soft and tender rain, nearly inaudible by the hears, nearly unnoticeable by the skin, nearly indistinguishable by the eyes which, saturating as the roofs as the ground, shows conceal shimmers up at all the extant things. The whole colour spectrum was melted into the grey scale, all the colours save greens. Have I ever dreamed with such sundry of greens? Absolutely not, but they were just there, so nuanced, shinning brightly for me… The silence would was oppressive if there has not been by the gurgling scuttlebutt of the water bouncing down freely by the middle of the pebble street. Whatever I wanted find the river, I methought a great idea to follow the stream. I was unable to shake completely out the squeamish feeling of be walking through a ghost hamlet: no people, neither animals were seen. Suddenly my breath held on. Disclosed by the last torque in the path a stone stairway rose up before me, leading to nowhere. Skeleton winter trees grew enormous and wild on the right, bowing over the stairway as if they wanted reach the other side which was riddled with mossy debris and weeds. The sparkly water jumped happily singing step by step. The autumn’s scent emanated from the ground, enveloping and transporting me to another world. If a fairy would has flown between the branches I was not surprised! A sweet taste flooded my mouth, and at that very moment I understood that I was in love, that I would live and die in this village.