Until then he had advanced to the carefree et à early youth, a road that seems endless as children, where the years wear and tear with a light step, so that no one ì announce their departure. You walk quietly, looking around with curiosity à , there 'is just need to rush, no press and no one expects the back, even fellow proceed without thinking, often pausing to joke. From the houses, doors, great people greeted kindly, pointing to the horizon and beckons with smiles of understanding, so ì the heart begins to beat heroic and tender wishes, is savored on the eve of the wonderful things they expect more ù forward, not yet you see, no, but sure, absolutely certain that one day we'll get there. Still a lot? No, just across the river yonder ù at the bottom, go through the green hills. O is not already the case for à arrived? Are not these trees, these fields, this white house we were looking for? For a few moments one gets the impression that s ì and you would like to stop. Then we hear that the best is pi ù forward and takes the road without worry. Cos ì continue the journey in a confident expectation and the days are long and quiet, the sun shines high in the sky and it seems he never wants to drop the sunset. But at some point, almost instinctively, we look back and see that a gate is was bolted behind ours, closing the way back. So you feel that something is changed, the sun seems more ù motionless but moves quickly, is alas, there is no time to fix that already à River rushes toward the horizon, we notice that the clouds do not stagnate in most ù gulfs of blue sky but flee crossing over one another, so is their grief, we understand that time is passing and that the road will one day à even finish. They close at some point behind us a heavy gate, shut themselves with lightning speed à time ago and did not return.
Dino Buzzati, The Desert of the Tartars
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