All islands look almost the same. They are alone, far away.
They sail in the sea and they dream, imagining the mainland. Some of them touch the sky through the tops of their vulcanoes that seem painted among the clouds.
Some sleep, yet others vomit energy. Life on islands is mysterious, different. Time passes slowly and the eyes look toward the infinite without perceiving limits.
Sicily as Japan.
Both austere, made of simple things. Fishing, handcraft, good food, a chair, the sea. Slow practices full of beauty. An ancestral beauty with no need to be passed down.
It sprouts from the inner of those who live on the island healing their soul.