Davide has lived his whole life in the village of Mutignano ( Teramo- 321 m above sea level), together with Marco, Leonardo, Vincenzo, and Costantino. Sometimes I visit them, and while having a bitter at the little bar or enjoying a pasta alla pecorara at Francesco’s at “Bacucco d’Oro,” it is nice to hear their stories, like when they were stranded in the village for many days by snow.

And, if you climb the ridge of imagination from Pineto to Mutignano, leaving the sunny beaches behind, you will find yourself in a tangle of alleys of medieval origin, with murals painted on some house facades, a bakery of good things, Samantha’s barber shop. A corner of peace in short.

The last time I went, David decides to take me to a new place and suggests a walk. The road he takes is next to the church and leads down towards the bands. We meet Pasquale the olive grower-the real tourist operator in the area-and chat for 2 minutes. Then, we take the path downhill again, and it occurs to me that he is taking me to a ‘secret place.’ A new one for me, but a usual and almost hidden place for those who live here. A secret place takes me back to childhood, a place that each of us has had and where there is no other law but that of absolute freedom.

The view is not the one you enjoy going up to the village, the marvelous panorama of the sea, nor even the magnificent one from the belvedere, which houses the Castellaro Pine Forest (2,000 sq. m. of greenery among oaks, ash trees and pines), but over the gullies, the magical erosive phenomenon of the land, where 2 million years ago there were seabeds (now covered with sparse vegetation but rich in fossils, which the clay makes glow at night).

We go down again, and there is always an intricate ball of greenery and thorns to shelter and protect the “secret place.” The scenery of nature before me is of absolute beauty: the spectacle of the gullies, the countryside, the silence. I live for a moment outside of time and space, like on Peter Pan’s island. I stay like this for an indefinite time admiring. Someone should say it in time, though. To say that maybe one day you will forget about that place and the friends you used to find there.

The budding writer.