69 days locked in the house that sheltered my mother during WW II in Magreglio, a tiny village in Lombardy. While the victims numbered in the hundreds every day, I had the immense privilege of a large garden in which I forced myself to walk at least one hour every day, with any weather, in the surreal and deafening silence broken by ambulances. As the human tragedy unfolded, nature was flourishing better than ever, and I never appreciated so much being alive.