"First signs of late summer"
After the Dolomites and the first real shower in August, comes a fresh morning and sweep the bora. At six o'clock I turn around in bed, uncertain whether to enjoy an extra hour between the sheets or do what I do best, namely raise my butt and start walking.
pick up something to eat and give way to an idea: to have breakfast on Sabotino, early Sunday morning. Not as fast as I wanted, but enough soon as not meeting a soul along the short ride to St. Mauro.
The wind raging and the light is still livid at this hour, nothing worthy of a photo, blinded by the slanting rays and the winds that bend the trees. But before we get to the attack of the path, I have already made a hearty breakfast of figs, ripe plums and walnuts still fresh husk.
Along the way, the flowers wither and wild garlic, protected from the mountain of the house, I can finally start to sweat. The Sabotino is still there, curled up like a big cat that looks at the plain, with wary eyes half shut. The vegetation has exploded, after this long in August tropical, and even if it rained yesterday, the steep, sunny not to see the damage.
silence broken only by the bells of the first Sunday Mass and the scramble by the winds that hornbeam, no one on this rocky path, where sprouting dried flowers of a blue arrogant. The legs are a bit 'tied this morning, and I have forgiven the exertions of last weekend all the more reason to look around slowly, towards this perspective that I think I know how my pockets.
But this time is different than the color of the Isonzo, neither green nor blue, violet, perhaps, strange light, cold and impatient, and skims the surface runoff, indecipherable as this wind season without a bora angry that he does not know where to go.
are now in S. Valentino, where I finally someone, a man planted his legs apart looking at the plain. We salute you soon: there's something in his eyes and I know that I recognize that neither of them wants to talk. I find it less windswept corner and I can finally have breakfast here, as I wanted: a banana, a handful of biscuits, sit here in silence, trying for the umpteenth time but could not find my house, feel the sweat dries, the breath coming back slowly and a bit 'of warmth on his shoulders.
Today I look at the mountains, look down on the plain, I look these two cities that are confused by now, I feel the numbness of the first morning of a day of celebration, almost all still in bed for a well earned rest. I'm not far enough to almost feel the noise of that world, where I live my life tenaciously stuck to the ground and from which I can just run away to deluding myself not to join.
I left it at home the bottle of water and I'm thirsty, I want to invite back for lunch the boys want to see my niece, after a week of holidays alone, and hope in a smile of my son. Meeting only a smiling elderly couple and a dad with his little girl asleep in the backpack.
go down slowly, gathering blue flowers and some branch broom. I collect walnuts, figs and plums for dessert of our Sunday lunch together. I pick up the strange light and the wild wind and loneliness. I come home that the city has just begun to awaken.
I come home with arms full and your heart lighter.
We carry the line of the recipe as newspaper 
