When, in Cantiano,
a town in the Pesaro high country,
the shadow of the mountains lifts,
the winds become gentle breezes
and the air loses its winter chill;
when glowing “bonfires” fill the evening
air with the fragrance of juniper
and the “chiù” fills the golden boughs
of the poplars with its call;
when the buds of the horse chestnut
buds grow ripe and glow in the sun,
heralding the coming of Spring,
the people, faithful to a mysterious calling,
are roused to meet,
discuss at length and decide:
the time is nigh for the Turba.
Dante Bianchi
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