There 's a cave, in a country so distant from us that it takes days to reach , in which a tiny drop of water falls with insistence by millions of years, on the same point on the same rock. Every single day each of the last several million years. With stubborn regularity '. Without ever stopping. For millions of years.
In that same country there is' a village, so far from us that it takes days of travel to reach it, and it must start from one of our modern airports for landing, after a journey of several hours that seems to actual pero 'a trip back in time for centuries, from check-in steel and plastic laminate to a wooden table by a sign that simply reports the name of the airport, just on a track marked on the edge of a city' lost, that even and 'the capital of that nation and it's hard to believe, and as' small, then use the single plane a tiny airline that lands at an airport that does not even exist on maps from which an old bus that carries passengers to the service over the transport of any commodity that needs to be transported, including chickens and rabbits to direct local farmers' markets Interior, you must stop at an inn near an ancient olive tree, pass the night, and after a hearty breakfast served by the owner of the inn, a beautiful raven-haired woman and courteous manner, but hurry up, call the only existing taxi for miles. If you and 'lucky, but usually this happens because' no one but those who want to reach that distant village, he uses this taxi, after a couple of hours the yellow car, yellow, just as our taxi with a license plate but incomprehensible, arrives at the inn. We could start immediately, but in a hurry this place does not have infected the population and there is 'time' cause the taxi driver to take advantage of the beautiful mistress of the kitchen, polite but dismissive of the old inn close to the olive. Then, finally, we go.
During the trip, which winds its way along dirt roads in your heart that you labor to call the streets, the taxi driver starts talking in his very own English, trying to make himself understood, emotional voice describing the spectacle of the landscape rushing on both sides of the car. The journey takes six hours. The view could last days and the description, in so quell'inglese 'odd months. But after six hours it gets. Not because 'the village' was finally reached, but because they 'simply do not exist any more', from that point forward, not even the idea of \u200b\u200ba road. You must climb up an animal, which the natives have given a name impossible to pronounce or write for a Western, and continue the journey to a time frame that will become 'known only when we get there. We cross plains parched by the sun, the wind disheveled crossing hills and mountains covered with snow changing, meet travelers who go on foot, and others who pray lying on the ground in the dust on the sides of the path, consisting of little villages and mud huts at some point and you ' arrived. Without knowing exactly how. Without knowing exactly where. All this if you wanted to go to that village so far from us that it takes days of travel to get there, right in the middle of a country so distant from us that takes a few hours away, but that seems pero 'a trip back in time centuries to reach it. The nation where there is' the cave and drop that falls.
In the village lives a boy in love with the air of this country even further. The cave with the drop of water for millions of years and falls on the same rock 'station, so that if you could could get there in minutes. But the boy still loves, even the stream running through the village in which they live, stream that the villagers call the river 'cause an account and' living in a village crossed by a stream and an account and 'living in a village across a river, continues to love without knowing anything about the cave and that drop.
happens one day that his eyes, the eyes of the boy in love even the grass that grows between the cracks dell'acciottolato in front of the hut in which he lives, it happens one day, "that" day one might think that the His eyes are resting on the eyes of a girl. Only two things bind them: to live in the same village and the fact they did not know that rock cave with tarnished by millions of years after the drop that falls, you might be led to think always, the same point. In the same instant that the knowledge that you are looking very soul of the other reaches the most 'sensitive heart, the instant in which life could change, on the one hand continue to love everything and enjoy every tiny fragment this love forever, love her and the other in her life and hers forever, at that precise moment, it 'a moment before, it' a moment later, the drop falls as he always did in the last million years. The two things happen simultaneously. On one hand, two looks that are interwoven, the other a drop that falls. Moment could last an eternity '. He sees in his eyes of her desire to love, the desire for someone to string the arms, all those words in moments of anger and think about those dreaming of someone to love, but also sees the suffering of living every day, the labor of household chores, the daily bargaining with the merchants to extract a better price, the projects on his father's only daughter, and all this in an instant. You and 'focused on the eyes of that girl and it' been overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions. Without having time to notice. A disturbance lasted for the duration of a blink of an eye. She realizes, through the eyes of him, of his infinite love, of his desire to love everything that exists, that puts the power in this, equal to that which is used when a tame horse, sees all this and more. At the same time. At that precise moment. Then the drop falls. The eyes of the two boys turn away. When the drop after hitting the rock, the same rock as always, in the same place forever, and 'all over. Those eyes will meet again, some drops fall, but the instant, that moment of magic intangible, and 'state.
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