Rough, wild and pure imperfection

I think the uniqueness of this place lies in its wild and sheer imperfection.

I searched for the uniqueness and authenticity not of the Italian sweet life, of the countryside of stone farmhouses and flourishing wisteria. I looked for it in the earth, in the memory of my grandparents' rural life, in the memory of those who belonged to these lands before me.

I look for imperfect, rough and real beauty in the snake hidden under the rocks, in the wind that sometimes wakes me up at night, in the wolf that is free and wild and safe here.

After a year in this place I feel I belong to him a little more. I feel the fatigue of the rhythms of nature but I hear their teachings. I feel the conquest of a small result earned with sacrifices, and I feel the beauty of having a sky dotted with stars that seem to shine in the darkness of my field just for me, as if to say "well done, today you deserved it. Tomorrow, we'll see .".

I feel the weather changing on my wet skin, a few days ago the wind on my sweat was a relief, now it reminds me that winter is already approaching. It's only September, but it's already September.

After a year I still have so much to learn about this place that sometimes I wish I had an invisible mentor to help me along the way. There isn't someone to teach you how to do it, just the humility to learn from nature, from the memories of the elderly and from what you learn from your thousand and one thousand mistakes, I'm already counting what I'll do tomorrow and a little , I can't wait for it to happen to say "no, next time you don't fool me!".