This year is the 100th anniversary of the Italian ingress to WW1 with their famous "attack" on May 25 to the Austrian border after crossing river Piave overnight. I'm spending two weeks on the mountains where both "pretenders" faced each others for years, uselessly bombing and killing each other without moving a step ahead from the forts where they used to hide. Every stone has a century long history, here. Every top of a mount has its trenches, bunkers, forts that could tell of four long years of reciprocal "observation". And I feel allowed to assume that everything I find on my walks has had the same destiny, the same story behind.
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