In the heart of the Lebanese mountains 2014, I arrived at a hidden place a small patch of land cradling smooth white stones, as if they were fragments of the sea's memory. There, I met two young shepherds, and one of them began telling me stories he had heard from his father, tales woven from the myths born of this tender land. He said to me: "Here, they used to say Ishtar descended from between the trees and stones into the underworld," and, "In that spot, there's a tale that only the breeze dares to tell," and, "Elsewhere, ancient traps from long ago lay concealed." These are dense legends, rising silently from the earth - you don't hear them, but you feel them. My visit was not merely a passage through a mountain, but a journey into a painting without shadow, all lightness and glow, like a story that drifts by gently and lingers in the mind as an unforgettable shimmer.