Waves

Think it would have been better if I took an umbrella with me.

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Patterns - II

 Some more samples from my latest early morning walks on low-tide sand banks.

Patterns - I

Sometimes sand patterns can be amazingly beautiful.

   

Il Respiro degli Alberi

Le Radici dell'Anima (Leonardo Nava)

Welcome back ...

... to Milano, the City, the Italian economical and financial engine, the beating heart of the 2015 Universal Exhibition.
 
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Fort Campomolon

What remains of Forte Campomolon, a WW1 Italian fort facing the former Austrian border, is just a round-about gallery dug into the mountain sandstone to help the heavy artillery climb up to the fort roof. The top of the mount has been now conquered by tall trellises carrying arrays oh huge drum-like antennas for long haul radio hops. Rubble and debris are spread everywhere. A stone hung on a wall celebrates an Italian officer who sacrificed his and others lives to defend this forgotten corner of the World.

Luckily, the strong winds blowing from the bottom of the valley conceal the hiss of the telecom cabinets cooling system. I can only hear my breath echoing in the emptiness of this circular gallery.

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This is not Portofino ...

 

... but it looks even nicer with the right eyes. 

Lanzino, not far from Lavarone, has each of its ten (not one more) houses with a different color.

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Ahab

Year after year, he stands upright in his wooden grim.

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On the WW1 tracks

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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The Interconnection Tree

I wonder how is it possible that after walking for hours under the trees of a forest the first instinct that two people feel is to sit, take a picture and post it on the web.

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