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Despite the discontinuity of life, I always have the desire to write. I arm myself with feeling to find the hidden tones: a low cloud that develops horizontally, air charged with rain, a look, the bag that goes up and down, a run and in the end an agreement of four notes, a third distant. I listen to you. The world reveals itself in its immense beauty and becomes framing.

(Silvia Luciani)

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August 19th, 2017.

Chuzenji, a small town near Nikko, 128 km north of the capital. Raining outside. Chappi, almost two years old, is comfortably lying on the wooden bench in front of Yoneko, 81, a lively and deep look. She looks like a woman with an iron will, who perseveres in the things she loves. The woman is holding a round plastic fan depicting the lake and the Chuzenji village, and from time to time she waves it in front of the dog's face looking at it with tenderness. Then he gets up, picks him up and leaves her inn.

Yoneko has always lived in this house, where on the first floor a hundred years ago his father opened an inn, very simple: six wooden tables, cushions for sitting and a bench. "Four generations have managed this restaurant - my niece Tukie tells me -. My Grandmother still spends all her time here, she doesn't say a word, she only talks to the dog and writes haiku". I look at the walls of the inn and I realize that overflowing in every corner of so many writings on rice paper of various sizes and, photos of Chiappi dressed in all possible ways. Even with a kimono. It is really true, everyone leaves his mark in the place he feels belong to him the most.

Notes have always with you

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