The Song of the Cicadas

July arrives with its gentle, enveloping warmth, settling over the pines on the hillside and filling the days.

The cicadas start softly as soon as the sun rises, and their song grows stronger, filling the air until dusk. It is a sound that never leaves us, an ancient and familiar music.

All around, the figs are starting to ripen, their sweet scent blending with the warm air and the light breeze rising from the sea.

And childhood memories return: those long, quiet holidays, sometimes a little dull, spent in nature. Hours spent reading, playing bocce, waiting for evening to bring a little coolness.

Even today, holidays here follow that same slow, genuine rhythm: the sea view from the hillside, the song of the cicadas, the whisper of the breeze through the pines, the clink of bocce balls, the rhythm of ping pong, a good book beneath the trees or by the pool. And the patient wait for those figs that the July sun slowly turns sweeter and sweeter.