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Sometimes you don’t have to go far to find beautiful abandoned places. Often we do not realize how many of these places are before our eyes, every day, for a lifetime. Then we notice them. And this is my case. I realized the place and went there one Sunday morning in autumn, when the village was still asleep.

This house was nestled between the narrow streets of a small village and the garden of a large house. Externally the house appeared bare and uninteresting, but when I entered, with difficulty, from a window, I found myself in another world. The whole house had been frozen in time, since the old owner died. The rooms were numerous, distributed on two floors, full of dusty furniture: nothing particularly elegant, but all full of charm and experience. I’ve never seen a dusty attic so full of junk even in the best fantasy films.

A thousand saints, Madonnas, Christs and crucifixes scrutinize you from every angle. An empty house to protect from jackals and vandals.


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