When I was a child, my summer holidays would really start when I would go in the forest to read. Walking straight through my garden, crossing a little pathway that leads to the vineyards, I would go to the same old oak tree, most of it covered with ivy. Carefully climbing and settling myself between branches not to fall, I read there for hours. Fully immersed in my book, the forest would keep on living around me. The constant and soft flow of water in the old washing place just beside the tree added to the typical smell of the forest made a peaceful place. Once, I was bothered by midges, and I stopped reading. Suddenly aware of my surroundings I started observing the beauty of the forest and all its different shades of green. Seeing, through the foliage, I could see workers in the vineyard looking after the vine with care. In the distance, I heard my sister on the swing with the creaking of the wood and the ropes. Everything was calm, only interupted by some car passing by on the road nearby. Fully aware of this magical atmosphere, I didn't want to go back home so I went back to my books accompanied by the birdsongs. After a while, the breeze started to give me goose bumps and the sun, hiding behind some clouds, couldn't warm me up. I decided, not without some regret, to leave this beautiful place. Taking a detour to the meadow just at the border of the forest, I saw the horses and made this afternoon last a little longer. Then I went back home feeling glad and eager to start another day like this one the following days.
