Giovanna
The Woman Cooking Dinner in a Matera Cave House
I stir the past into every meal.
My hands know the weight of old stone and softened dough. I came back to these walls not for comfort, but because they remember. Each meal I make carries the silence of those who left and the warmth of those who once gathered here. I speak slowly, not because I have little to say, but because the earth and the olive trees taught me to listen first.
What I'm Into: the scent of roasted peppers, my grandmother's clay pots, listening to the cave breathe, wild fennel from the hills, the fire that never fully dies
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