Behind a tree

I needed to discover the lost landscape. Yesterday, I immediately went out to the frozen village where I'd lived some years ago.

A white stratum covered the narrow rows, autumnal hawthorns difficulted our loud steps. Not far away, we discovered a highway where nice and powerful cars fastly,  majesty and unconsciously drove to the frozen and slippery precipice.

I wihtout bitternesswanted to warn, it wasn't my way, I knew, but because I always feel well in these landscapes, my stomach need to be relieved, when I was getting close to my favorite tree, I felt like the laughter of a weasel, as if she was enjoying the view of those puppets, before powerful, runaway to that cliff. That weasel didn't seem to care that people living down in that beautiful valley.

That laughter, step by step, was increasing her level, that site lost its tranquility. Arrogant characters had invaded all lands. But there, the weasels knew better those abrupt soils