I don't remember the last time anyone asked me why I live here.

If someone did, I'd probably have to think about the answer. And that's exactly what I don't do since I arrived in Campo la Carrera. Thinking about reasons is usually the first step toward having to defend them, and no one defends anything here. Things are the way they are, or they stop being that way, without anyone needing to explain it.

That's what I like most about this place. No one asks.

In the morning I go out walking before it gets hot, while the air still holds a bit of the night, a faint coolness that never lasts long but always arrives on time. The path drops between the meadows, dips just enough to hide the village, then climbs again, as if it didn't want to let you go too far.

I walk slowly, with no destination, following a habit I don't remember choosing but that's already part of me. Sometimes I wonder how long I've been doing it. Other times I decide not to.

Here, no one walks entirely alone. Even if we're not together, I know there are others who wake at the same hour, repeat similar gestures, and share the same silence. We don't talk about it. There's no need. Over time, some people stop being just neighbors. We never agreed to it. It just happens.