Above the coastline, removed from the obvious, Ravello exists in suspension — between sky and sea, stone and air. It does not seduce loudly. It unfolds.

Light here is architectural. It traces terraces. It settles on pale façades. It sharpens edges, then softens them again by late afternoon. The horizon is not a view, but a line of discipline.

Ravello is not the drama of the Amalfi Coast. It is its pause. Gardens arranged with intention. Balconies framing distance like curated apertures. Silence that feels edited, not empty. Everything holds proportion.