A short retreat is what I need. I am working on a perfect spot. A Greek island, the quietest of the Sporades, and I hope to catch up with my writing. It's just a feeling of being "on schedule" and I won't bother you with it. If there is something interesting to say I'll say it. But since it has become too much of a play, there might lay a virtue in silence today. A silence taught by the pretty face of nature surrounding us. A silence that doesn't lull your mind to sleep but keeps her awake as a pair of eyes on a sunny afternoon, with their lids tense.
We do nothing. I write many hours. I would have loved to explore the island, go on a tour, feel the wind in my hair, that sweet symbol of freedom. But there is something deathlike in the air; nobody can do anything about it.
The young woman and the sea.
She takes a few steps into the water and we see her standing there, long curly hairs reach her shoulders, playing gently in the breeze that comes from behind the island. We think she is contemplating the sea and it seems to us some sort of communication is taking place between the young woman and the sea, some invisible exchange of thought that make us step back in reverence. All of a sudden she disappears into the waves and a short moment later we see her black hair that is wet and straight now moving off the coast. The young woman stays in the water for a long time and we we cannot help feeling a slight shiver traveling over our back when we think of how her back must be cold and her skin wrinkly. But even from a distance we can see her smile and then, as sudden as she went into the water, she comes back. We drape a towel around her shoulders and see how she smiles in a way only the sea can teach us.
