Cleveland, Ohio. ?[?]?the landscape is the door that permits us not so much to remember our life as to enter a dimension in witch memory and imagination come together to create something new, where events that took place are mixed up with things that have not happened yet or that can never happened, and in which different ages coexist in a metamorphic multiplicity of characteristics and tendencies, intentions and accidents, victories and defeats. In the stratified beauty of the landscape, where the permanence of the geography is inverted in the shorter and cadenced timescale of the buildings and the various forms of vegetation, everything that has been desired seems to have been realized, and concrete presences turn into idealized entities. Everything appears in a different light, while time is molded into a totally unpredictable and arbitrary succession of things, events and people, as in a dream. The layering of moments, sensations, evocations and knowledge that constitutes the impression that the landscape makes on us is the fertile ground from witch springs not just the meaning of our existence, but also the idea that it should have a necessity and a end?* In conjunction with the end of the second term of the forty- fourth President of the United States, Barack Obama, I crossed the country by train: from Los Angels to New York City. Eleven states (California CA, Arizona AZ, New Mexico NM, Colorado CO, Kansas KS, Missouri MO, Iowa IA, Illinois IL, Indiana IN, Ohio OH, New York NY) and three changes of time zone (New Mexico, Kansas, Indiana). An about sixty- hour journey, three thousand two hundred and twenty-four miles and fifty-two stations. The landscape establishes the real borders between the states. Nature and urbanization overlap and dissolve. From the vastness of New Mexico, to the lacerations left by the crisis in Upstate NY. Colorado's sunsets and the dreamy humanity in the train. The smell of the stations when briskly passing from the coach to