The story of a wicker basket

Last sunday was a rainy day here. It was surely better to stay at home near the fire reading a book or spending time talking or playing music with some friends. Suddenly, after lunch time, wind has driven away clouds and the sun has appeared. Now I had a good reason to go out for a walk. The reason to go? The day before, a friend of mine has given us a fine basket full of handmade biscuits. Now I had to give the wicker basket back to his owner.

Well, the weather was quite fine, but some black clouds remained very close: so I had to be rather prudent because storms may be a problem when walking in the country... I decided to go with this wicker basket in my hand and with my faithful walking stick: well, actually, this is not a simple a stick but a "lituus" made of pine wood.

I entered the road to go directly towards the house of the basket's owner who lives rather close to us: just 1 km. Instead of going through the direct road I decided to choose a side white country road making a longer tour in the country.


The road is wet, muddy and full of puddles, but, after having left the last houses, I'm in the complete silence surrounded by small streams carrying rainy water from the Muntain Cimino to the small river Vezza.



My steps are slow and every steps is dedicated to a precise thought. On the right side a wineyard exhausted after the grape harvest. On the left side a great olive grove which just few days ago has met the olive harvest.



Just in front of me, there is a sanctuary: a pitch forest of oaks with a pitch brushwood of ferns. The white road enters the sanctuary and my steps become slower and slower. The tall trees are rustling their leaves at the rhythm of the wind... It's a silence full of the trees' voices. My steps are extremely slow and my lituus is gently grazing the road not to disturb the trees' choir.


Slowly I have left the sanctuary, his voices, the peoples living there and after some small climbs, I could see the roof of some farms. Just close to me, the ruins of an old house: in its garden the statue of a beheaded dwarf. Maybe the small people has revenged that ridiculous imitation...


Many crossroads with other white country roads: it is easy to get lost here above all if choosing the road towards the great sanctuary of the Corviano forest when the man catched by darkness may easily get lost and lose his mind.



Sheeps and goats are bleating. A donkey is braying far away. The houses of the villages are approaching and after a curve, two hens are going around just before disappearing behind a small fence.

The sun is quickly setting and the little lights of the candles in the small cemetery are the signals that I'm near the village limits. My steps are faster now to reach the small house of the wicker basket's owner. After an exchange of greetings and warm thanks for the very appreciated gift, I have turned my steps to home: this time quickly because darkness is coming nearer...