This is Sicily: a permanent center of gravity. Like the title of the most famous song by Battiato, an eclectic and groundbreaking musician born on this very theatrical island. Sicily is a poem, an adventure in verse surrounded by the sea, where there are towns of such beauty that sometimes you don’t understand, it just touches you and you admire it.

It is a chaotic island with its point of order and harmony, with verse and chorus. It has a lot of history. There is baroque, Greek and Roman ruins, active volcanoes, an al aperto theater that overlooks a bay; stone coves and sandy beaches; palazzi and motorinos; noise and alleys with a seventies Fiat; or a seicento of the year such that it still survives among a hidden asphalt. Some facades look like they are going to fall apart, but in reality they are works of art. What was the workshop of an engraver or the shoemaker’s house, surely.

Never mind the underpants lying next to those beautiful, worn-out shutters. You look a little higher and a colorful dome from who knows what century appears, and the sea emerges like a sigh in the background. Cranes and satellite dishes don’t even bother you.