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Lake Ledro view of a typical morning.

Early morning, no coffee yet, and a brisk walk towards the lake from the hotel through a carpet of dry leafs.  The sun was not yet visible for the mountains are too high to uncover the warmth for that day, at least not yet.  The silence was immaculate and the lake was a clear liquid mirror accept for those slight moments of trout beneath the surface.  I could almost hear the echo of my shutter resound on the other side of the lake.

The lake was real calm and the reflection was so vivid.

The gods high up in the skies veiling upon us down here, overlooking what the mountains hide.  up there almost unreachable prepared to unleash their powers upon the mortals.  The lake un-rippled, calm, mirroring the parallels of the surrounding, until a scavenger crosses right through creating waves that formed the V formation like that  of migrating birds.   Light is still faint but enough to create those different shades in relation to the distance from my self, almost like our lives where at times things don’t seem so clear, others where everything seems to fall in place.

This hut is a recreation of the typical inhabitants of Valle Di Ledro, I tried to take myslef away from today and imagine how it might have been back then.

Whilst walking west I realised how well maintained this place is, and how people here live in contact with nature with all the comforts without damaging her equilibrium.  The day before this we walked the whole perimeter of the lake bringing nothing more than sore legs but a hell of experience and appreciation.

The intensity of light is now evident and that gives me nothing more than a sign that one of the tips of the mountains should turn orange shortly and start enjoying the first heat of dear sol.  Waiting for the right moment I positioned myself close to the lake to get a glimpse of the mountains reflected in the lake but some bastard just found the great idea to come fish exactly where the reflection was just perfect.

I watched as a stone caught in the currents of an early January morning shower, fought its way up the stream.  Then I thought, Janus, the door, the opening month for hope, towards the new year.  Nevertheless the year was still breathing its early gulps of air, and the stone was now rolling down, alone, unprotected from the grips of some crevice in the limestone beneath.  Nearby a waterfall captured my attention, and slowly I moved beforth, forgetting the stone to its destiny.  My pallid face, colourless, faint, lacking the warmth of those rays of light that indulge my present.

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Once again I wait, for a moment, for an instance, for a shot.  I wait for this is the only task I can reach, the only instance I can achieve, the only time I can be myself.  My senses are not as alert as they should be but aware, enough to know that I am not alone.

Excelsior Hotel
Excelsior Hotel

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Like footprints in the sand which slowly fade away, my thoughts swiftly flow through, whilst the wind blows my sun scorched face here in Golden Bay. The sea, symphonically rushing its way through the pebbles which rest upon the sea bed. Nothing to see accept the sun, slowly fading away in the horizon reflecting its warmth for the last moments of the day. I look up towards the skies, and all I can see is a tower, which like a chameleon has adapted to its surroundings maybe to protect itself, to survive through the turmoil of time and mankind’s greed for power.

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I met a pebble on the beach, who related her story, “I have traveled for so many miles”, she said, “but still remaining in the same place, today I rest here on this soft comfortable sand, cuddled by the suns’ rays, today I met you, why don’t you tell me your story”.

“Here I rest watching the world go by”

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