“Here’s the green Sirmium in lucid lake smiles, flower de peninsulas. The sun looks at her and fondling: resembles of the Benaco around a large silver cup”. Carducci praise so Benaco, Lake Garda.
It is the land where I was born. The air is particularly sweet this morning, smelling the scent of jasmine in bloom: I contemplate the horizon, there are no clouds on the long and winding road that I have in front lapped by calm waters. I ride in silence, listening only lukewarm air buzz that breaks down among the thin spokes of the wheels of my trip Scatto Italiano, the tourist season and in its full swing, but these places in the early hours of the morning still enjoy the strange stillness, that makes almost think that the huge expanse of still and silent water is only there to be seen in all its beauty.
In front of me are flowing frames of the surrounding countryside: an enormous silent peeks ancient villa on the lake among the tall poplar trees which protect it with the huge wrought iron gate that makes her look even bigger and “unreachable”, a bit like the castles of childhood fairy tales, imagined during the evening tales before closing his eyes.
Ph. Andrea Benedetti
