Winter, here on the Alps, seems like an endless season. During these first part of the year, there has not been so much snow, but a freezing wind. Tiny little ice crystal give me the illusion of candid landscape. It’s a less intense white, not uniform at all, but it’s my own make-believe wintery world, and it’s beautiful anyway. (altro…)
L’inverno, qui a ai piedi delle Alpi, è una stagione che non sembra dover mai finire. In questa prima parte di anno, pochissima neve, al suo posto invece un gelido vento. L’illusione di candidi manti è data così da microscopici cristalli di ghiaccio, un bianco meno intenso, non continuo e uniforme, ma comunque bello a suo modo. (altro…)
We are not used to reading poetry, too demanding, too difficult and obscure, but even so each of us holds in their heart some verses, fragments that were able to sneak into the remote corners of our souls, and that sometimes emerge on the surface and talk to us.
I was in high school, during my English literature classes, and the teacher was explaining the Romantic poets. They were a bit too dramatic and heart wrenching according to my tastes, but as you all know, every rule has its exception, and mine was called Daffodils.
Fotografa per passione, lettrice instancabile, amante dei gatti, viaggiatrice dal passo lento e dall’animo curioso. Camminare in montagna e andare in bicicletta sono il mio modo di scoprire la vita e la sua infinita bellezza.
