"You have to come to the “Brich”, in a windy spring day, to fill with joy at the infinite space that is throw open, as by magic, further the green curtain of the avenue that conducts to the chapel of the Partisans dead in war. So the Alps look like Bordeaux mixture clods in the brightness of the sky, while they are emerging from some white light veils. In the vineyards, clouds game makes some shapes of shade, like a chessboard; a rapid ray of sun inflames, there, the willow trees and a yellow wriggle of primulas.
The secret of this harmony, of this peace is in the crisp clouds surrounding the sun, in the violas shining amethyst, in the moony primulas, in the aroma of the honey of the sweet acacia, in the notes of the cuckoo, resounding from a hillock to an other one, in the magic philtre with whom Dario, with his loving wisdom, distils the velvety amber of his vines." (R.Bertolino).