Quiet in Gavathas...

...everything sort of sleeping,

umbrellas folded, disciplined chairs,

looking out the sea,

gentle invitations for coffee...

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Like stopping time...

...when nothing really moves,

and Summer hibernating soon...

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Almost blinding light...

...and seemingly deserted,

from folks or animals,

on bumpy roads of sand and dust,

a stylistic landscape,

all round the year...

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A letter writer's bay...

...fragile and vulnerable,

humbleness requested,

 a soothing place for anyone,

like St Paul,

who feels like a castaway...

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Summer growing numb...

...and I can feel it day by day now.

It is a good time of the year,

a bit of slow motion,

with space around and having time to talk,

the island so present,

with all it´s faces of light...

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A point of constant return...

...to this almost painful silence, 

echoes in ears, 

a language with no words,

sitting down listening,

to what comes up...

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Skills for tables and floors...

Have bought her work for years.

Making beautiful things, 

using an art piece of machinery,

on the island of islands...

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