often ask me if I'm not afraid to live in a cemetery.
I always say no.
In fact I am not afraid.
One evening, however, 'I was home alone and got up' suddenly a furious wind: he began to shake the tree tops, to topple cards flutter to the gutters and abandoned containers.
I was in bed under the covers, only the face off, ready to abandon the arms of Morpheus.
I had forgotten to close the curtains of the window opposite the bed.
The moonlight was dim and the window I could see the outline of the chapel down the street, the trees, not the graves. Struck by a
laziness unquestionably left the curtains open and I was convinced that the view of the outside landscape would not disturb my sleep. The wind
start 'to get angry more and more', to make the chainwheel rattling the gates, to rattle the windows, the house creaked.
For a moment the wind disappeared 'and they began to hear the moans of all souls, pleading, suffering, angry, desperate. This
hard 'thirty seconds.
for another thirty seconds I wondered if I close the curtains would be a smart move or I would die in the path of those three meters.
turned on the light and closed the curtains on the run, standing out in the bed.
rituffai me in the arms of Morpheus and who knows' what terrible dreams I did, fortunately in the morning I remembered them.
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