green meadow surrounded by chestnut trees, a history of listening to the birds princess, this is all that remains of my youth, all the rest to the dump, each passing day, tons of looks, emotions, gestures, accumulate and grow into the substance of the tender images of my childhood, it seems that at a certain age on the machine backwards and all that is basically coming to the surface, it's time to write memories at the risk of disconnecting from the now hard to come and go between yesterday and today, indeed the most beautiful people in the age of daily life too busy to reach out to their neck past life above all, in a present ébouriffantes hour clash in a tumult of conflicting pressures, how to put a search of quiet which has pushed 60 years ago today, a thousand fires burning, it becomes virtual, it is far from negative that developed in his bathroom, now the computer with the ambition to do as well as humans, but be able one day put on his slippers outside when the winds of the fall sweeps the dark streets, I begin to be nostalgic when I see the technical evolution towards the satisfaction of needs which we populate superficial brain like spiders tending their nets, we are the victims of the machines, are not we already trapped mobile phones, dvd players in cars and computers that connect to the Internet over the air, without interruption, at home and everywhere else, has the potential to be activated, where is the wandering nose to the wind, forgetfulness of self, anonymity in the crowd without a device that scrambles the brain