Home, sweet home...

...when the grey of November falls,

I turn on the light of the island within...

*

Visiting an inner room...

...can be that of my own,

sitting in a chair looking out,

being a part of a fusion,

between the room 

and the coast and the sea,

only parted by a layer of glass...

*

Quiet in Gavathas...

...everything sort of sleeping,

umbrellas folded, disciplined chairs,

looking out the sea,

gentle invitations for coffee...

*

Like stopping time...

...when nothing really moves,

and Summer hibernating soon...

*

Almost blinding light...

...and seemingly deserted,

from folks or animals,

on bumpy roads of sand and dust,

a stylistic landscape,

all round the year...

*

A letter writer's bay...

...fragile and vulnerable,

humbleness requested,

 a soothing place for anyone,

like St Paul,

who feels like a castaway...

* 

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...

*