Somewhere in the Sabine hills, hidden in the brambles, the ruins of an ancient churchΒ are slowly sinking underground. The building was abandoned when the limestone below began collapsing centuries ago. Crystal-clear water springsΒ underΒ the marble arches, and giant weeds have taken over the gutted walls where religious icons are now long gone. A short walk from the ruin, a deep sinkhole produced aΒ roundΒ emerald-greenΒ lake, which isΒ said to have held the temple of a mysterious indigenous goddessΒ associated with fertility and water. Legends tell of a small island where the goddess received her sacrifices; it used to float in the middle of the lake, but hasΒ longΒ vanished into the depths below. IβveΒ alsoΒ learned that every Saturday night, from midnight till dawn, a procession walks unseen through the outskirts of Rome, praying to the Virgin Mary for the sick, the dying, and the heartless people of the world. We got to the sanctuary as dawn was breaking, and the pilgrims seemed to vanish as soon as the sun had risen above the horizon.Β The worldΒ this summerΒ doesnβtΒ seem to make much sense, and I find someΒ comfort in the knowledge thatΒ some thingsΒ are still allowed to disappear.














