I left the woodshed alive the memory of my grandparents.
roofed small bundles of straw, tied tight, now the color of ash, for what little could be seen between the thick layer of moss that covers them.
not have a drop of water from the roof.
propped up on logs of chestnut blacks from the time, but still strong, because the chestnut does not rot even water because of the tannins it contains.
boy during the summer storms, I liked to climb on top of the well-cut pieces, the right size that they could enter without difficulty into the small cast-iron stove, immerse myself in the intense aroma of wood and grateful, curl up where nobody could see me, and only , let fly the thought, sure that no one could reach me.
The woodshed was leaning against a belly flop two-storey home, almost without plaster, with the hard stones, painstakingly drawn from the river, in plain sight.
stones brought a few at a time by mule up the steep paths carved by water over the man, smashed one by one and squared up to each lose roundness given to them for millennia rolling in the cold, clear waters.
was the same age, the house and the woodshed, but it had maintained a dignity that the house was missing.
The house looked like a man at the end of his life, barely seemed to stand leaning against the younger sister.
While this construction of wood and straw, apparently much more sensitive than that of stones and red tiles, gave a passing feeling of protection, wisdom, strength, made me feel good.
But my mother sold that small piece of land on which it was laid, the house was not ours, to the new owner came from the city, which was reinforced and repainted and refurbished the old home tired. And he put it, where there was a woodshed, a bell'ombrellone colorful and a nice lounge chair of the identical color and a nice plastic table on a nice radio.
So, some friends and I, threw down the shed to make room for future progress of the bells and whistles.
We were fast and precise, supported by the force and fury of our twenties.
And half an hour in the shed was gone.
Forever.
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