Aldo Moresi (10.01.1933-17.10.2015) Aldo Moresi was born in Certara, in the upper Valcolla. He lived in Bellinzona. He attended the Magistral School and the Ecole Supérieure in Neuchâtel. He had also attended courses in literature and art criticism in Italy. He was a civil servant for several years. Later he was secretary of the Commission for the Protection of the Natural Environment. He collaborated with the Ticino and Italian press with articles on current affairs and art, as well as with cultural magazines. In the 1980s he received important awards for his cultural activities. He was awarded the Penna d'oro in Stresa. He was a member of the Swiss Italian Writers' Association and the Pen Club. "I see the village school again, the serene faces of my classmates, the paternal gesture of the good teacher, and it seems to me that on certain evenings I can hear their voices again. Time has erased those moments, but the heart remains to remember them. I am sure that, as Roman Rolland said, "happiness lies in knowing one's limits and loving them". Il tuo amato paese "I wanted to write these lyrics as a tribute to all those who still believe in the beautiful and authentic things in life. I gave the book the title 'SONG OF SEASONS' because I feel connected to my country, to my land. Thus were born the stories of sunrises and sunsets, of unforgettable moments spent in my village, lived in direct contact with nature. We live in an age of disenchantment. The excessive materialisation of life leads us, day after day, to our dehumanisation. That is why it is essential to rediscover our true identity, to recover our ancient values, our traditions, in order to continue living and hoping. Pier Paolo Pasolini, in a splendid page on the glow-worm, wrote: "As for me, let it be clear, I would give all of Montedison for a glow-worm"1. This means that each of us needs poetry, that irrepressible voice that is part of our way of being and feeling. I remember springs of light, summers, ripe hay, those poetic autumns and winters of silence and snow. Above all, I remember my mother, her kindness, her smile. My father emigrated from Vallerano to North America when he was very young. He returned home at the beginning of the summer. He died a few years ago in Chicago. In those days, before the fifties, Uncle Onorato had been elected mayor of Certara, in upper Valcolla, a position he held with great dignity for over thirty years. I spent all the seasons there with my sister, my brother and other members of the family.