We live each of our days shrouded by a veil of shallowness, surrounded by slogans of different parties which hide the truth and steer away the critical thinking towards a more comfortable and /or easier direction.
This is Earth
It was a late summer day, the sky was clear and the temperature was pleasant.
I decide to go for a walk on mount Vettore, in the Monti Sibillini National Park.
I walked for about three hours and reached the summit.
Clouds where rising from the valley and, in a moment, the Pilato Lake, 900 meters lower, disappeared.
In a few minutes the clouds surrounded me.
I vividly remember a slight sensation of disorientation, even though I was near to the cross of the summit, a place I perfectly know.
I allowed the fog to wet my hair and my clothes.
Fog in its density seemed to have grasped all the scents of nature.
describe the smell, but it was a combined fragrance of wet and fresh mountain
grass, warm rock heated by the sun just a few minutes ago, leaves and wood of
the forest from the valley.
The fog was shading the sounds; it was like being in a glass case in which besides the sound of my breath, there were endless whispers of the air through the cracks of the rocks, small sounds born from the movements of the grass and rising from the ground, pleasing sounds of various insects, far and dark noises of flying raptors were filling the air.
I stayed there for a while, surrounded by white, hidden from any reference point, breathing and listening trying to distinguish and perceive all the things I was feeling.
I did not want to leave, but night would have fallen, so I sadly left, and while I was coming down the fog was decreasing.
At the first turn on the Pian Grande and Pian Piccolo the sun crept through the clouds creating a magnificent dance of lights, shadows and colours on the valleys below.
I like to think to this picture as a farewell or maybe as a gift of nature, which did not want me to leave without giving me something, simply for spending some time with her.
Maybe this sight was the end I was waiting for on the summit.
© Emanuele Zallocco Photography