My memory of Amiata – by Giovanni Castellotti
For many, water is a tasteless element. And the act of drinking is almost automatic, devoid of emotions. Yet the water of Mount Amiata, with its releasing relief, is part of my indelible memories.
On a hot summer day, from the charming medieval village of Abbadia San Salvatore, animated by a market promoted by the parish to finance a restoration (to which we obviously contributed), with my family we climbed to the top of the mountain. Nature welcomed us by escorting us with the protective vision of the chestnut woods, with the intense colors of the multiform environments and with the coolness of an imposing and widespread shadow.
It was the first time I had witnessed that unique spectacle of such a lively and enveloping environment, capable of canceling the heatwave suffered in the village with a feeling of absolute well-being.
We crossed wide plains, teeming with humanity in search of comfort and steep terrain that gave us back the strength of an intact and powerful landscape.
At the top, between a stationary cable car and some stands of local gastronomic products that enriched the atmosphere with intense aromas, I appreciated the “taste” of fresh water from a fountain. An apparently banal and inflated ritual, that of drinking: but on that occasion, accompanied by the hand of luxuriant nature, I was able to appreciate that coolant drunk, that sip and savor the precious liquid, enjoying the grace of God offered by the woods.
The reminiscence of Amiata is linked to the riot of senses granted by the waters preserved by the scenographic protagonism of the environment.