The construction site across the street from my house opened about a week ago. Much was accomplished in this short period. But all of the work so far had to do with the removal of the rubble left after the house that used to stand there collapsed a few decades ago. Tons of stone and dirt, as well as the remains of several mature trees that had found a foothold in the ruins, were carted away by two tractors with trailers working from dawn till dusk. Replacing a small army of construction workers, a tiny excavator did wonders across the street. But when the ground level was reached yesterday, it turned out that there was a cistern under the house. Many houses on Borgo have cisterns underneath them, but this was still a surprise. After all these years, the cistern was in perfect shape, too. Having consulted the owner, the construction crew filled it up with rubble, though. A vestige of the past, it was deemed superfluous. Cringing at the sight, I wished there was a cistern under my house, for one never knows when it may become useful once again. Only then I realized that it, too, could have been filled up with rubble when the house was built in the early Seventies on the ruins of the house that used to stand in its place for centuries.