As a child I always loved the fairy tale world, of which I was desperate reader. I'm passionate about the stories populated by princesses and brave knights, fairies, genies, winged spirits, gnomes and elves, of course, all deployed to overcome the dark forces of evil.
I was not afraid of anything and even dreamed of flying, heedless of the danger I was vying with the playmates male climbing trees to see who wins the most agile and reach the high branches, swaying under the weight. I looked like a monkey, I'm not discouraged ever, nor suffered from dizziness and even competition strengthened my confidence to be invincible, and in fact it was hard Starmie behind.
In the large park of the lake house, where his childhood flowed happy, we played hide and seek in the bushes or behind the rough trunks of the pines, we were racing down the avenue that led from the large red gate and not stopped until when the heart was beating wildly and then "The Crow", sbracati in the grass waiting for the beat slowed.
I still feel the smell of grass, soft and supple, that envelops you like a hug when it was high it was fun to dive in, roll around laughing and then return to chase.
also build huts in the trees soon became a passion, shared with my brother, who like me was pretty reckless, and there was nothing to choose from among the trees of the garden and park, although the cherry trees in absolute in the field beside the avenue were the preferred place, protected by the proximity of the wall and away from the house. The realization
commits us not a little, it was necessary to look for wood for the floor, cut the canes in the bamboo grove, covering the walls and roof with leaves of palm trees that proliferated in the garden thanks to the mild climate of the lake, but once completed the work was a joy to look at the world from our privileged position, inaccessible to ordinary mortals, a place only to us, which allowed us to fantasize.
Many years later I thought of those huts, reading "The Baron in the Trees" by Italo Calvino, the story of the boy who had chosen to live on a tree and I'm passionate about that character, understanding that it was not so crazy, just loved with passion the nature and wanted to live free as sparrow, feeling safe and protected only in the nest among the branches.
Throughout childhood contact with the ground was vital, I had a passionate love for flowers and I still remember the humiliation of my mother for a disaster unaware: Begonias seeing the limp and suffered under the sun of August I had wet abundantly, without waiting for the cool of the evening, and the poor planting accaldate not endured the flood of fresh water and surely perished. I stayed two days wrong, but I'm not even a slap butchers, in the end I was just a girl who wanted to help the flowers, but it certainly did not know the rules of a good gardener, but now that I care two years from the "garden of the soul" to Vincigliata I learned a lot of things to dig, transplant, prune, fertilize, but you know with the experience matures.
Love is born in the woods in my childhood, a short walk from the house there is a small lake surrounded by woods of chestnut trees, I always liked to walk between the trees, breathing the smell of moss, listening to the sound of leaves under our feet, from a young age I have always been a curious little elf who lived in reality, but he loved diving into an enchanted world and even now do not stop dreaming because the dreams of our childhood follow us into adulthood ...
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