Termoli

Place of enchantment, of quiet and storms, resting, place of peace. Winter violets, yellow flowers as points in the shores.

Land of deep ties. Rough, deep, robust.

A falling in love.

Arches, narrow streets and squares, old fountains. The Towers and the Castle, the Cathedral and the Churches.

The Sea, the harbor and Trabucchi. Old and new houses, irregular, aged.

Place of memories, history and stories. Familiar places.

Memories. The memory of a boat impregnated with salt, a song of fishermen, sons of fishermen.

Thermulae, Termolante, Interamnia, Termon. This is, again, Termoli. Origins, roots, the history of its history and legends. Tracks. In the footsteps of Diomede. The Roman Age” and the centuries of the Barbarians, the exploits of the Normans.

Smell of distant peoples, of the past, in the walls, in the stones, in the narrow alleys.

Intimate details of the Town.

And his village. “Alto”, medieval, old, small, cramped, rich, simple, beautiful. “Island”.

Strong walls and mighty, the Towers that defend and end up watching the great harbor, boundless. Proud “Mura” that contain and include, encircle and embrace women sitting in the doorway.

The sunset is approaching on the roofs and the massive wall becomes red, pink, that colors the houses and all around. It slightly falls in the sea, pushed by a gentle wind, light.

Soothing beauty.

 

 

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