High in the hills near Montalbano Elicona, north of Etna, there is a plateau, called the Argimusco. In the middle of this plateau stand five megalithic rocks. Each has a name, according to its shape: the eagle; the lion; the big cliff; the praying woman; the old mother. The peace up there is total. No car horns, no voices, no machinery. Just the clang of goat bells drifting through the enveloping cloud, and the occasional muffled thud of wild horses’ hooves on bracken-covered earth.

I could have stayed there forever.