In this quiet village, time moves slowly.
Silence flows through the alleys, and even sound seems to pause.
The land breathes—not in full bloom, but on the verge of it.
The lavender fields remain still and green, waiting for the purple to arrive.
Between stone walls, wildflowers and untamed plants quietly emerge—unassuming, yet undeniable.

The air here is full of scents that appear suddenly, without warning.
Sometimes, a breeze carries the fragrance of acacia— a scent that for me is not just the smell of trees, but of my mother; of her embrace, of home.
Within this stillness, under this soft light, something in me has changed. Not suddenly, but slowly—like a drop sinking silently into the soil.

Here, you don’t need to be someone. It’s enough to simply be.