I the silence of the forest is a silence that does not frighten. Feel it when your soul is alone, stripped of the heaviness of everyday social life, only then you realize that life is a precious moment and that is good to live your passion embraced by an emerald sea, foaming here and there gems glittering in the sun.
If I take the love of my mother and the beautiful, passionate and unconditional Cesira no one ever loved me like a mountain. I'm in that my mountains, those of the Pollino, with its trails hours of shady beech forests of the sunny hours and the extensive stony plains, with its immense forests that I have discovered the source after source rock after rock, and in many corners remain unknown to me and partly I think it will remain forever. I am very fond of these mountains, are very fond of these paths.
On July 16, the feast of Our Lady of Mount Caramel, the most important of my country, driven by a mysterious call I felt the need to go to the mountains and as I climbed from the Dragon Hill I was surprised not to cross or not be exceeded by no action. Ruggio floor was deserted, there was not even the irreducible seller of cheese, the De Gasperi shelter desperately close. A Colle dell'Impiso I found no action is parked, I had never happen in many years of hiking. 8:50 am to load the backpack on my shoulder and started walking.
I want to return that does not travel on trails for many years and I never got alone. The SE ridge of the Serra Ciavole attracted me for some time, I'm headed there with the desire to meet old friends, old pines loricati with whom he chatted for more than thirteen years.
My loneliness for mountains need to focus on values \u200b\u200bmore just and sincere affection. I need to carve out a piece of cloudless sky. To find the naivete of a child el'incoscienza. To find myself talking to myself and understand that this lonely, choice, and not suffered, I get nearer to God
Walk slowly so as not to disturb this peace, I have stronger words of silence, a silence that envelops me in the woods bridging the gaps of my soul.
The day is hot, on top of pollens literally devoured by flies, I try to drive them away several times but insistent Went down into my body and I can not help but give up.
The Plan Pollino close to the east to the pass of Ciavole, the bare wall north of Serra Dolcedorme contrasts with the East side of the Serra Ciavole dotted with large pines loricati perched on rocky crags of the summit. The plateau is about to end, I leave to the left of the mighty and small boulders in front of the two peaks as oracles I observe, I wedged within the woods along a strip of clay. Finally a bit 'coolness.
The forest here is different, lower, more grazing, the bark of the beech are smooth and shiny, the twisted trunks and thin branches are bare as to witness the subjugation of these plants to some kind of huge invisible force that is unleashed perhaps more here than elsewhere.
back down towards the floor of Acquafredda. Grossi centennial beech trees as Leonardo's grotesque silent spy my go. Just me and the mountain, the world is a lonely experience unique and unrepeatable.
arrived on the beautiful plan Acquafredda I head towards the small valley of the same name and embarked on the wide path that goes diagonally across the SE ridge of Serra Ciavole of forwarding me once again through the woods. They spend minutes of calm and cool then re-emerges in the warm blue sky.
The "Pino Guardian" of the ridge towards me, greets me and we hug.
- "Am I wrong or I am a bit 'more meat."
- "Am I wrong or do you find most convoluted and a bit 'shrunken old man" tell him angry. We smile. Then his voice becomes serious and subdued.
- "There is no longer as before. Many have left us, died under the blows of the Spirits of Storms. In winter, with storms and tempests beat us with violence, and in summer their arrows are trying to penetrate our armor. "
listened in silence. Then he added in a voice choked with emotion:
- " When you become old and tired, nothing we can control their shots. Fortunately, every year young Pini Warriors vigorous growth to replace their brothers drop. But our death is not in vain, brand name becomes a refuge for nesting bumblebees and ladybugs. "
Before leaving the good old and wise Pino Guardian added:
- "The human heart is not like that of nature. If it destroys the Great Mother knows how to rebuild. The heart of some men is worse than the spirits of the storm. Go now, greets the other and climb to the top. Then you walk across the ridge to the Great Gate of Pollino, going from the White Rocks where there is the Great Rift you will see the latest Men of Stone. "
embrace the Guardian Pino without uttering a word, her arms to hold me tight, I turn abruptly and without turning round I climb up the ridge, two streams of hot tears streaming down my face.
Along the ridge the view is terrible, pine worn by the elements lie on the ground. As I go I hear the stories of Pines Warriors, I speak of deep gashes, now dead and mangled bodies rotting. Listening to stories of prosthetic arms that seek to support and assist other students now in the process of falling. I scratched shells, branches cut off, I hear stories of long and deep wounds healed more hours still open and bleeding. Patches of tree trunks and branches are scattered along deep gullies. Better not be in this place where the battle rages. Excess silver giant bones, the ridge suddenly rears up, beautiful blooms unfold before me. Carpet juniper absorb my slow ascent I hear the hum of bees entering and leaving the dead trunks of the Warriors, read butterfly flying next to my shadow and some ladybugs land on my backpack, and others accompanying me on the arms to the high-altitude meadows. A final spur then the top of the heap of stones and finally the sky, there's nothing left to climb.
; 
; 
What is an enchanted world of the lonely and terrible at the same time. A world of fantastic hallucinations hours real time.
E 'afternoon when my senses seem to expand to seize new sensations ... whispers of the past. In the silence of solitude live the slow rhythms of the seasons, I see shadows of ancient shepherds moving through the rocks, robbers who are hiding in the tangled forests, lost herds that graze on the grasslands of high altitude. There are moments of particular fascination in which my senses can see shapes, faces, places.
The Great Gate of Pollino I visited the tomb of "Zu Peppu" and I realized why the hearts of men is worse than that of the Spirits of Storms. Please waiting for the last lights.
hour del tramonto vengo stordito dal profondo silenzio che mi avvolge. Nelle luci che si vanno spegnendo sento qualcosa nell’anima che mi ricolma di gioia profonda e di calma. E’ un momento, un attimo che mi scalda il cuore. Sono solo in questa immensità, è un momento che non dimenticherò mai.
Ritagli, spicchi di sole all’orizzonte vengono ingabbiati da intricatissimi rami. Ancora un attimo poi resto solo nel buio.
Nel mondo delle solitarie ho trovato la mia salvezza, in questo mondo sfumato di sentimento ogni volta fuggo dai tradimenti della vita e dai deleteri mutamenti dell’animo umano.
Mentre supero la Piana di Pollino, alla luce della lampada front, I think today I have not met nessun'uomo along my path and I experienced another time, I pulled down the other dimensions, I realized that, as in love, it's harder to listen than talk.
There is a light that goes down along the floor of Toscano. I Pini Warriors younger stir: "What the glow of lightning or fire? need to prepare for battle ". But the old pine with Guardian mocking voice now silenced the young plants: "I still see my children, we will see him again, do not be afraid of him, one day will be with us in battle, because as he brings us the scars on his heart. That light is my children the Last Romantic. "
