“If you can’t come to Sicily, let Sicily come to you.” There is a moment each morning, just before the heat begins to settle over the valley, when everything is wonderfully undecided. It’s a new day where the day will unfold where it wants to. The swallows are already awake, stitching invisible lines across the sky. Somewhere beyond the olive trees a tractor coughs into life, and the church bells from a neighbouring village drift across the fields a few seconds later than they should, softened by distance. It is my favourite part of the day. Here we expect the unexpected and we are never disappointed. By eight o’clock the…