ENTRY DESCRIPTION
A Woman, a grandmother, who softly dresses the cloth that embodies her past, almost as a safe shelter. The cloth, the same used for the olives harvest, brings back those feelings of loss and attachment to the past. Eyes, with no more tears, which witness the crumbling of the walls of sacrifices, renunciations and efforts. Ears, now sheltered, that have heard the Earth scream in the starry night. That Woman, wife, mother and grandmother, as tenacious as the olive trunk that, on the hills of her land of Abruzzo, masters time and eternity, even death itself. A life dedicated to family and work, marked by furrows and scars that are reflected on her face. Those furrows are ready to welcome new blooms. Ripples that collect tears from the river of life. Deep traces of roots that merge with an infinite sky. A Woman whose eyes witness the strength and wickedness with which Earth imposes Her will, while preparing for a new flowering.

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