No one around, no voices near, just emptiness of any perturbing distraction. Dark clouds pass by the high peaks melting into sky elusively ... in resemblance of pompous birds that fly with exaggerated delicacy, in a mad search of a nest. Although the trunk weighs in her arms, she does not even think about ceasing in her rocking. The sweetness in which the woman looks down strikes and when she looks at the bare branch of a tree, she's contemplating her son ... smiling in her arms, all the heat of innocence, being born to a new day. Life is chivying about, a tender scene motionless in time. Now she rocks it, now she looks up at nature, witness of that supernaturally tender union. A palpable and mute union that confronts with passion the conundrum of life.

The woman rocks her child, the woman rocks her trunk ... and in her dream, "she sees what she wants to see" ... because she believes in all her dreams, in all her illusions, in her vision of the most beautiful life she likes to live. How important is it the way we pursuit our dreams? of most importance. That day, the stillness and lack of life of a trunk, gives life to her feelings. In the middle of the mountain, in the middle of nowhere, the woman adores her child with eagerness.

So we are every day, in the middle of uncertainty, in the middle of nowhere, we are opening the way to our desires, caressing in our mind the best we think and hope, the path we want to follow. What does it matter all around? What do all the inconveniences or apathy matter? An eager meaninglessness. The strength of the will and our hearts make us walk towards our dreams each day. The most beautiful ones. A place for the genuine.