Last days of autumn, the first cold wind begins blowing through the valley, the perfume of wood smoke fills the air .. and only a few pigeons breakfast in the plazas. Tourists have now gone home and the city, fallen into winter lethargy, resembles some giant animal as it hibernates, awakening only from time to time for the holidays.
Silence, but for the cooing of a pigeon and whispering winds. This is Arco until spring thaw.
dreaming of summer mornings
latte and brioche