Brancaleone Superiore, Calabria.
Roofless houses stood open to the wind.
I sat on a low wall. Dust stuck to my shoes.
The air smelled of damp earth.
The sun was low. Its last light fell across cracked walls and broken beams.
I wondered how many lives had passed through here. Celebrations. Arguments. Births. Deaths. Things people had not said out loud.
Now only the stones remain.
