Meeting Benches World art in all forms

Sitting next to a tiller, to look after, you can carefully observe the banks open. Although not wanting to, you follow a track without curbstones that follow behind these waters, rotting and still, always. When the eye does not look at the banks, is a face that rises from the depths stomach, like a fish that lives at the bottom …

It was a day in June, the beginning of the summer of 1999. That’s for sure. Picking up some documents for my trip, I accidentally found some old receipts, not just pieces of paper, but pleasant shades of my travel memories. Six objects, six sites, they reported the freshness of my long stay in Venice. Five are in the restaurants …

The Aragonese castle of Baia, built in the year 1400 over the remnants of a Roman villa? A magnificent walk in the spa area of Bacoli, Campi Flegrei in? Buy a classic vase (or a plate decorated by hand), in Pozzuoli, in pottery shop Puteoli, to 128 Corso Vittorio Emanuele? Why not admire – in the same Pozzuoli – the …

http://www.sonomacounty.com/ . It is a valley two hours from San Francisco, with forests full of redwoods. Sonoma Valley, where to stop for a drink special. You choose between the excellent wines that are born in that light: Cabernet or Pinot Noir or Chardonnay. You can take a ride very intriguing, in the shadow of the wineries, perhaps starting from Viansa, a …

HOLD MY HAND Hold my hand at sunset, when the light of day goes out and darkness slips his cloth of stars. Keep it tight, when I can not live this imperfect world. Hold my hand, take me where time does not exist. Keep it close in hard living. Hold my hand, in the days when I feel disoriented, sing …

I THINK OF YOU I think of you, from the bosom of the sea when the sun rises and its rays darts. I think of you, when the moonlight wave serene whitens. I think of you, when it goes away the dust along the path, and in the dark night, when the passenger on the bridge, the heart leaps with …

I CALL YOU RISE OR FALL What your name: rise or decline? Because sometimes I fear I am, and the red of her roses tend cautious, and I sense a fear in his flute, for those days without singing and without end. But myths and mine, I feel the evenings, the dim light of my gaze. The forests, between my …