Andrea was twenty years old, and as the years of his twenty years old were not questions. He was the youngest of three children of the elderly Maria, the seamstress of the country. He drank life in big gulps, Andrea. He drank the life from the eyes and never spoke. Andrea was autistic. But he had overpowering light in his eyes that made him look cheeky. On him in the country had said it all. Some had even speculated that he was possessed by the devil, while others claimed to have seen him walking in the woods and singing voice flute and talk with God He had always spent a little time with his peers and a lot in the woods, the boy. Andrea knew the secret of love. Had told him a sapling of the Wood gossip of the Pawns in a sunny spring morning. Andrea had been urged to stick with the usual silence button. I had seen him wearing fresh leaves and soft, such as milk and asked him the reason for that dress again. So the tree had revealed to him with a rustle of leaves in the afternoon to wait for a robin's song which was deeply in love. Waiting for him for many years and for years every morning he had called on the old oak tree that he could read the wind. And the oracle he had read the score wind, searching among the wing-beat notes of the robin. Only the night before the west wind generous that carries the scent of the sea had announced the much awaited return.
- And if you were to choose the branches of a tree to your? And if you went away again and never to return? - Exclaimed Andrea, with teeth clenched and his heart on fire.
- I am a tree - he had longed for the small fir tree - I can not pursue love, but I keep it.
