The districts of the soul
When the goddess of the lush harvest retreated from the world in search of her daughter, the good season suffered from her remoteness and began to slumber in anticipation.
There came a time to return home, a time of quiet, but also a time of hard work to prepare a new wealth. It was a time of care and reflection.
In the houses, a vast world opened up that had fallen asleep in the depths of the spirit. An island of landscapes forged by the movements of the soul, by the winds of the imagination. From the quarters of the soul emerged dense and deep colours, the archaic instruments of the goddess.
The deep green of the woods. The dense burgundy of late fruits. The shades of the falling leaves, and the sand that rises to the wind. The turquoise of the sea that captures the last remnants of light.
Celebrating this expectation took on the meaning of living, of rejoicing in encounters, in things, in passions. And the house, the scene of these new stories, was much more than a refuge: it was a port from which to start, in search of new riches. It was a port in which to find oneself and embrace one another.