I go up to the mountain. I observe. I feel the power to observe from above. I can see the prisons, I can see all the little secrets of this town. Nobody can see me. I keep the monastery as my new point of reference. It must be always opposite to me. I am heading the right direction.. The mountain and the monastery. The prison and the cemetery, the city and the river. Dipoles in "terms of endearment". Undiscovered. What’s the space between? Emptyness. Everyone has somewhere to go. He passes through and dissapears to his destination. That’s why you never see gathered people, just people around..

I keep walking and I see a cross. A religious symbol up to nowhere. I try to found the way to approach. I go up to the wineyards, but i still don’t find a path. Probably there isn’t. You cannot approach. At least I am so happy for this little surprise! It keeps me safe the existence of the signs. Of well-known symbols. At least the existence of traces. As I go down I don’t expect to see a house with a yellow beam- shelter and a nice modern glass facade. An architect must has crossed this street, for sure! I am sure that I’m in the right way. Ah, the power of traces!