Today I went walking. There’s a small hill near my house - wreckages from the II World War gathered and covered with soil lots of years ago, now covered with grass and trees… well, there’s this hill where I go wandering when I want to get out a little (this doesn’t happen this often). Today, as I was walking under the trees, something made me remember of past times, and it was joyful and sad at the same time to think that those times will not ever come back, but they have been an happy part of my life nonetheless.
I climbed to the top of the hill: there was no one around except for a man reading a book on a nearby bench. There are no trees in that place, but it wasn’t too hot, and I stood for some minutes, just looking at the city spreading around under me, feeling the sun and the wind. It was pleasant not to think for a while, and just be there, looking around with nothing to look for, standing without a reason, waiting without someone to wait for. Just being.