Xolivo was born walking. Among the ancient silences of Salento, wrapped in olive trees like bodies, I found breath again. After darkness, something in me stirred—a living echo in matter. Each tree felt like a rooted soul, with wounds and arms reaching skyward. I saw pain and strength, endings and rebirth. Photographing meant listening, touching, being crossed. Each image is a threshold between memory and matter. Xolivo is my song to these vegetal souls, to a land that still blooms and resists.