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This is not just a table, it’s the memory of olive trees, open windows, and hands that know recipes by heart.
A minimalist ode to form, silence, and breath. A heart at the center—ceramic, fragile, vital—becomes the anchor for a floating garden of dried stems and pale textures...
The kind of afternoon that becomes a chapter. Tea poured with laughter, stories passed like sugar bowls, and candles lit before...
Not Christmas night, but its luminous counterpart: a midday celebration alive with fresh greens, fruits, music, and daylight.
