For those who were born and lived on the Po, the moist breath of the Great River is perceptible even when they are far from it. The Po is felt in the air: from the smell, from the emptiness that one senses on the water guided by the banks, at the same time limit and landing place, end and beginning. It flows slow, powerful, calm in the deceptive stillness of its deep waters, now sweet in raising locks and streams of foam, now ready to get angry suddenly when the flood arrives and to drag away everything they encounter on their path.