“Impossible there: too many people. Come.” Instant fellowship: a lady hair-pinned over a cane, me daily secreting taverna tit-bits to help her feed cats a whisker away from ferality.

Bleached stone smoothed by soles, through an azure door, we crossed through her room, (“Right foot first – good luck”), bare feet melting into the marble. Her balcony’s red pelargoniums catching a whispered breeze. Above the swarm of tourists, watching Homer’s ‘rosy-fingered’ sun scorch the smooth sea, its pearl waves and turquoise water transformed into fiery ruby for all-too-short a time.  ‘Ooh’s and ‘aah’s below dispersed: we sat in comfort though unable to converse easily. Inhaling silence, dark shadows, and the last of the day’s resin scent. I offered money for my front-row seat. “No. Friend.”

I’d bring extra cat food tomorrow.

Impossible to forget this stranger, this sunset, and Santorini: a gemstone in the jewelry box of Greek islands.


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