Mediterranean Maquis: Light and Scents 0 Comments

by Daniela Toti

I travel along a Sardinian Road, narrow, designed for the passage of only two vehicles, rarelystraight. Often without guardrails or reflective lights, it demands attention and respect. The Mediterranean Maquis embraces it on both sides, until the road feels less like a connection and more like a crossing.

It has rained not long ago, but now the rain has stopped, and the sun has returned. Its rays fall at an angle, pass through the air still heavy with moisture, and settle on the crowns of the plants. Each leaf holds a droplet, each droplet catches a small light: they look as though they were set with tiny diamonds, each worn with an imperial grace, ancient, never displayed.

And while the gaze lingers on this discreet shimmer, the air begins to warm, and the maquis breathes.

• The Myrtle gleams, dense and composed, releasing with the light a deep, green, slightly sweet scent. It envelops without intruding, like a secret whispered to those who move gently.

• The Mastic Tree - The Lentisco reflects the sun in flashes. Its tough leaves let the water slide away, releasing a dry, resinous aroma that smells of freshly washed earth.

• The Arbustus welcomes both light and moisture. Its scent remains uncertain, suspended between sweetness and sharpness.

• Rockrose flares for an instant. Its delicate petals shine like gold-tinted wet paper and release a faint, almost shy fragrance, perceptible only at close range. It lasts a little, but while it lasts, it is perfect.

• Wild rosemary holds the light with clarity. The droplets run off quickly, leaving in the air a clean, luminous aroma that clears the mind and evokes the sea, even when it cannot be seen.

• Further on, the Juniper does not sparkle: it absorbs. Light slides over it, and its scent of wood and resin remains low and deep.

• And then the Helichrysum, which seems already dry even when it is not. The droplets pass through it, waiting for summer, when its yellow blooms and its warm, almost honeyed fragrance will store the sun within.

Driving slowly through this landscape, with the window open to gather its scents, means allowing oneself to be crossed by a full sensation. The rustle of leaves, the air evaporating, the light breaking into a thousand reflections: everything invites one to slow down.

It is as if time here moves at a different pace. It does not urge, it does not demand. It simply accompanies, reminding us that certain places are not merely crossed, they are absorbed, little by little.

The Mediterranean Maquis reveals its splendour to those who know how to look and breathe at the same time.

In the end, the sun offers me one last gift: Olcu Biendi, as the rainbow is called in Gallura.

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