Everybody has a little story to tell and it's always the same.

Nor is it entirely ours, even if we consume much of his life - and an even more of our thoughts - in feeling the protagonists at the center of a small scene changing, often obscure and impenetrable to our reason - an invisible technician plays with the lights and shadows, according to projects that escape us.

The fact is that we need to understand, indeed, to believe that they can understand.

The real scene is much broader and is unintelligible, but maybe you can tell anyway, simply continuing the account of others, you can explore, venturing deeper into some uncertain steps - and get dizzy - like blind accompanied up to there, to hand , by others.

This collection is a hypothesis of the track in these few steps, hand still bears the imprint of the warmth of the hands of grandparents, the serene sound of their voice as we walked through the woods.

It is the imprint of heat of the hands of other loved ones, their precious light in the darkness of the scene.

It is also the mark of the heat of my hand - I hope - in them.