Palizzi Superiore, Calabria
The old Ape truck leaned against a peeling wall in a narrow alley. The paint was chipped. The frame was dented from decades of work.
I imagined it loaded with olives, grapes, furniture. It went up and down the steep paths of the hill town, serving houses now closed, people who no longer lived there.
I thought the Ape was out of production. It was no longer allowed on the road. Before it, there had been mules on these same stones, harnesses creaking under daily loads.
A cloud slid over the sun. The temperature dropped. Goosebumps rose on my arms. Something banged inside the cabin. I stepped closer, then stopped. A sweet, rotting smell leaked out.
I walked away. After a few steps, I turned back. I lifted the camera and shot from a distance.
Of Dust and Light 