Look out the window. And doesn't this remind you of when you were in the boat? And then later that night, you were lying, looking up at the ceiling, and the water in your head... was not dissimilar from the landscape, and you think to yourself, "Why is it that the landscape... is moving, but... the boat is still ?"
_ Dead Man, by Jim Jarmusch

A road movie that tells the dream beyond the frontiers of the lowlanders, immersed in a microcosm, still unknown, in which time flows, slowly. There, time is fragmented, blurred and oniric where water has its own music and whispers the stories of the inhabitants. Family ties, my roots, the bucolic landscape, the abandoned places and animals: there in the Emilia of Northern Italy, everything is connected, everything flows and everything remains. I found a story where the eye doesn’t stop but rather proceeds as if you were watching it from a train. Tales of lands below sea level, enclosed by mountain ranges and furrowed by rivers that overflow during the winter season. The dreams of a leftist Emilia, a century ago, have since evaporated; the earthquake has mowed much of the area, the unemployment and alcohol took care of the rest. There, one is accustomed to the dense fog that remains of a vanished peasant world that should not be looked for, but must be felt spiritually. There, the souls of our fathers and mothers echo sounds of a distant time. i