It bounces on the cork bark marked by time, smoothes and shapes like Michelangelo the wild white granites that radiate on the proscenium of the deepest Gallura. The wind that here has always swept the ridges of the land of the Millenarians is strong and luxuriant, combing in favor of the mistral the olive trees that have stood out in the Pantheon of the patriarchs of nature for four thousand years. The calves, just weaned from a pasture that is as bold as it is frugal, enjoy a perpetual grooming that climbs promontories and sinuous peaks impregnated with mighty oaks and impregnable junipers. The road to stand out in the heart of the land that borders the Costa Smeralda is tortuous. It is useless to hope to pass through Monte Pino, the mountain and the asphalt strip that crossed it are still torn, like that cursed November 18th ten years ago when the flood crashed into the valley, devastating Olbia and beyond.
The lesson of the wrecks
The landscape is pristine, except for four old wrecks that grind the wind at low altitude, no more than 25 meters high. Rusted by time and by the greed of those who attempted a first wind attack on the territory, those four blades along the route to climb the Gallura interior are a slap in the face to the pristine skyline sculpted by nature in the past millennia. Yet, as if that lesson of degradation, contained and aborted, had not been enough, in this exclusive parterre of nature and history, archeology and unique landscapes, a real ambush of lobbies and businessmen, wind multinationals and predators is about to be overthrown of environment. Before crossing the entrance door of this paradise to deposit unrealized projects, disrespectful and outrageous of nature, they did not even have the goodness to listen to the most intimate testament of one of the most sublime singers of these valleys.
