Summer sleeps beneath the aged
olive trees, and the air is redolent
with notes of flute and song
carried on winds that
thread the island’s tapestry of
wheat, barley, fruits, and herbs –
tight-woven and seamless between
the sea and golden sun.
And yet, even in such a paradise,
longings search the human soul.
As on the beach, where,
dark and undulating waves
of wind-blown hair are brushed
from the faces of women
who look out to sea, searching
the thin horizon for the sails of
returning husbands, sons, or friends –
the coming of hopes and
answered prayers, the wind-brought
end of anxious dreams.
