The secret ponds

I laghetti segreti

As two shy little brothers hide among the folds of their mother's skirt, Percile's two small lakes protect themselves under the branches of the oaks.

But children's refuges are not difficult to guess. At the gates of the path, winter reveals the secrecy of Marraone and Fraturno: among the dry and brown trees of the valley, a bright green spot appears. There is water there.

Everything that hides on the Lucretili Mountains leaves traces. The hungry boar has sifted all over the ground, and is not ashamed of it. There are those who are more introverted: the newly born primrose is covered with dry leaves so as not to be seen. Even man has left its signs as fountains and old stables, or the huts of Santa Oliva, which define the path.

But one should not be satisfied with just the look. You need to listen. The quick marten runs, and the lentisco and blackthorn bushes vibrate. You need to smell. It is too easy to smell the horses that have just moved but it is a challenge to find the stinky hellebore hidden on the sides of the path. And you need to taste. The summer blackberry bush tests the bravest to reward them with their fruits.

When the creek also begins to play hide and seek, the home is close. The fast streams flow on the path and then disappear between the folds of the slope. Behind the last corner, Fraturno finally shows up. How can you not see it immediately, so big and bright? But after a hunt, it begins immediately another one. Where are the frogs revealing the lake with their croaking? And the crested newt? Who knows what is the shadow that moves under the surface of the water, is it a carp or a tench?

And why not, maybe some secrets are hidden on the lake bed, apparently low, but as deep as a building. Perhaps each sinkhole preserves a submerged treasure. And where is Marraone? It is behind the ash trees and holm oaks, before his brother. Its banks are only for the most experienced and brave. The quiet traveler just needs to discover it with his eyes. It is enough to walk a little further to discover Castel del Lago, with its ancient cistern and terraces hidden with ivy.

Lying on the shore, with the water touching your feet, you hear the laughter of the children. A guest like me plays behind the seven cypress poplars on the bank, hiding like Fraturno and Marraone among the trees of the Lucretili mountains.

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