The sun beat shameless down to out heads. Heat ghosts fluctuated like saharian mirages between the fronds of the olive trees, as we were suddenly dragged back in time, in a golden era of myths and heroes. We almost heard the fights surrounding us, with the battle cries followed by tangled swords and clash of shields. But wait, hear that scream! The swords and the shields and the heroes were replaced by laughing children engaged in fancy plays and we were back to present time. A rhythmic music resounded from hill to hill coming to us from who knows where, mixed with laughs and chackles. Maybe there was a feast somewhere. With our forehead beaded of sweat, we wandered among those olive trees, lost but happy, satiated of the sun, the sea and the land fruits, intoxicated by the unique perfume of those olives, so intense, so delicate.

A sea breeze ruffles our hair.

We arrived when the sun reaches its zenit. The summer, reluctant to leave his spot to the autumn, still yellowed the field around us, making every hill, every knoll a giant extent of gold. Despite the heat the work didn’t stop. From everywhere we could hear the voices of invisible workers. And while the sun burnt our nose and our shoulders, while the sweat curled our forehead hair, we could not help but smile, thinking that we would stay in that little corner of paradise forever.