Since then, how once in the distant September, from one old ship in Lipari in front of me had opened a view of Vulcano and Vulcanello, I felt myself haunted by these Aeolian islands, dazzled by so much beauty.
And that sense of wonder I feel every year, without exception, when my ship or faster hydrofoil is approaching to this handful of islands. When the city noise fills you with noise up to exasperation, a dive into the silence of the island is perfect and escape from the madness.
This year I landed on a frosty January morning (which became gradually heated and then warmed up under the hot sun) and immediately felt the languor, arrived to where I wanted. A simple port, charming colour of overturned boats, the white houses, clean and quiet road in the Sunday morning have not disappointed me.
When I arrived, I was greeted by the incredible beautiful bungalow, still flourished in the shelters of walls like Christmas stars, winking between the disorder and the rusticity of the plants in the gardens of the country. The winter luxury, which stunned me, accustomed to see such beauty in our stores, in the corners of city streets in makeshift flower markets and in our living room decorated for Christmas.
Coming out of the village, on Malupasso rise, I felt that my breathing echoed to the sea breathing on my left: Sicilian coastline, distant, coloured in pink and blue tones accompany me with a soft wavy line and among the pastel tones, tender as a Japanese watercolour, rose black-
Days of wonder, discovery days, the green corners of the unknown streets, fields of daffodils and yellow bells. And the sea: blue if quiet, lead-