Sunday, November 13, 2011


When we were in the village of Oliscani, the birthplace of my grandfather, I bent down and picked up a rock from the middle of the street. Three years after our trip I wanted to make sure this rock was still with me. Today, I opened the little wooden box where I had first placed it. The rock was still there. Unlike the time, it didn't change a bit.

This rock came from the soil where a lot of my relatives originated. I should keep it and protect it.

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