It is a long time since I stopped thinking that ruins (and there are plenty of them here on the island of islands, with a history many miles long!) were only piles of stone. It is living material that tells me stories of people who once were here. In the razor edge sharp light of the day, the very old turkish village of Κουκμήδου, talks of an area that once existed and bustling with life. It also wakes up a sadness of it´s death and disappearance and the smells from three bakeries are long gone.
|Farmer's house watching over the past.|