ONLY SKY ABOVE MY HEAD OF HOUSE
E 'within a week, a full week in the Dolomites of Sesto.
soon I fled from the crowded ski runs, complicates the prohibitive cost of the ticket and my hunger for solitude.
Monday is a perfect day to start with: the frenzy of the weekend is gone and the sky can not see a cloud. I start from home, knowing only that I want to get to Prato Piazza and -10 ° will not be an obstacle.
The icy valley leading to the Bridge is not cooling my enthusiasm and I decide that I will go up from here to 600 meters up the plateau. I have to cover myself carefully and ignore the chill attacks the legs will do ten minutes at a good pace for me to take off his jacket and hat, and climb to altitude and the sun blinds me with a vague promise of warmth. Only a few rare long-distance runner I reach us with his smooth skating and I continue to go up to the flutter of a chickadee and ever-larger segments of blue. By conifers come off clouds of ice crystal, the shimmering ice-poor that digital can not capture, leaving only the magic of a memory.
The forest smells of snow and sun-warmed bark and there 'is no room for impatience arrival: the path is already perfection.
Turned up on the big bowl, not knowing what time it is sunny, some just arriving at home.
For these eyes are not enough spaces and the images do not tell the long wave of emotion that links the throat. Everything is white, soft and shiny. The plateau is a quilt of tiny meringue on glare and overhead sky there is only dense and unbounded. I continue walking towards the hut Vallandro face to the sun and slower breathing, feeling already the smell of hot food and relief to sit on a bench. Up there is the
Strudelkopf, which is not a cake but the South Tyrolean mountain species, overlooking a small snow dome the Three Peaks.
unexpected urgency drives me up there, and I discovered the well-beaten path that does not wait more than my feet. I drink and swallow a mouthful, but I'm not hungry or thirsty, and I just want to keep walking. Someone before me and the road is smooth and pitfalls. I do not have to walk: it is an air force that lifts me up, without sweat or effort. I wonder if I took some medication, but this is pure natural doping, the result of unparalleled enthusiasm.
scenarios change, the prospects are multiplying, but the panorama of the famous Three Peaks will not be visible until the end. The Cross is now at hand and now there is no one at the top. It 's a small peak, only 2300 meters, but what I see has a flavor of ice and heat, yet another wave that leads through the body without going through the mind.
eyes are not enough, not just the objective, not just the memory.
someone comes along to keep my smile and the pride of a discovery that I can not share with anyone. Return to Valley race, drunk white and blue, for long beams along the slopes of the Dürrenstein soft and dripping of a thaw. I'm tired, hungry and burned. I just feel like a Radler and a soup and a time to escape the glare blinding, mingling with the people and for little confused with the murmur of the refuge. I do not want to talk to anyone, but I need someone around to enjoy the recent privilege of solitude.
return to the valley until the sun starts to break and the snowy forest is turning gray. A Bridge there is nobody for half an hour and I still enjoy the expectation of my cozy room and a hot tea and a hot shower, which cease to be obvious, but again become privileges.
The others are returned from the slopes, justifiably proud of their achievements.
I pretend to get excited, but I'm not able to tell my day.
