The arrival of the winter seasons also means the opening of the indoor tournaments season and I, as a father of a young and sporting volley player, cannot refuse touring around the province of Varese and visiting new villages on almost every Sunday afternoon.
Between two matches, there's always time for a short walk to the local bar, where to sip a cup of - in better times - undrinkable coffee, under the glances of few elderly locals gathered to play cards while listening at the football matches commentary from the always on television in the next room.
Beside the bar on the main street, few of these villages have little more than a small church to be noted and tentatively visited. In the accidental visitor's support, the winter frock helps making them a little bit more interesting. People stay inside their homes or in the bar lounge and walking through the desert streets, where the sounds are dump and the kitchens flavors fall down from the chimneys melted with fog, is always pleasant. It feels like walking alone on a mountain track. And, sometimes, you even find sources of inspiration. Metaphors and epiphanies. Just like the narrow climb below.
I'm going to walk a tortuous path. Next months are going to bring a wealth of new experiences and events in my basket, as well as in those of my family.
(Made and sent from my mobile.)