I imagined a trip to Sicily, to my land, discovering, as if I had never seen them, colors and shades contained in the heart of it itself. Colors of apparent aridity but which know how to take on, at the beginning of summer, the gold of wheat and the red and yellow of citrus fruits, and the shadow of sparse trees and streams, which suddenly pour out as if they were opening up the earth, as if they were yet another wound that time still doesn't heal.