We come from a place blessed by the sky and from affection, sometimes from the frenzy to obtain sustenance, where a bank of dry stones stands up to defend the life of a single tree.
We come from a place that has had and still needs tenderness where a single row of vines is the staff of a score of the song of millennia, the song of men and women that we once called sad.
Those men and women try to walk on this light earth, avoiding scratching their destiny, as the wind caresses them with a song of thanksgiving.
These men and women now direct the voice towards a different passion, a new way of being Cilento and they laugh because laughter is a prayer to life.
Ours is a story in the making. A light link between past and present. A story that comes from dreams.
A story that is a union of affections, friendships and sharing, understanding and misunderstanding ... An echo of languages and cultures reaches this corner of the earth because it is driven by need or curiosity.
United on the limpid carpet of the Cilentan cadence
accents of Arabic, Polish, sometimes Scottish, Australian, Argentine, blend into a single choir that then becomes free in harmony. What we produce is our fruit, we generate it in the celebration of the earth, ours, with its rhythms, its times and its seasons ...