The salt crusted cliffs, concrete buildings dripping from the hill tops like icing. Fedora hats, shirts and dresses, the garb of those walking the lofty paths with sluggish curiosity past white signs, white walls and monuments, electricity poles and painted trees.


The domes and the doors. The window frames and shutters. The deep blue of the crystal clear water. Blue flags and towels flutter against the pale blue sky.

White and Blue.

White wash sprays from boats and jet skis carving their path through the blue. They stroll the white streets to breathe in the fresh air and finger through blue fridge magnets and wrist bands. Blue busses pick up white dust that dances in eddys behind them. Men wear blue and white chequered shirts that match perfectly the blue and white chequered table cloths in the blue and white restaurants they eat in.

Something Else.

The sun drops, the blue sky blushes, the blue sea follows suit. The white buildings blush a pinkish hue. I look into my wife’s blue eyes and tell her I love her. Her white skin blushes…. or maybe it was today’s sun.


5 thoughts on “Santorini

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