August is coming to end twilight wraps itself around the olive grove earlier than a few days before and after five, sun sinks into the sea with an almost unseemly haste.
The evening breeze is still mild but carries pockets of cooling air like a lover who is preparing to leave, only waiting for the right time and I sense the beginning of unsolvable melancholic loss.
The village's lane is dark, yet moon is full, but doesn't reach into my heart that aches for the past, those days in May when the future was moving to never ending summers.
So, farewell then fly with the wind Be gone! I will, as always, walk on hidden tracks and in the shadow of a carob tree sense your presence and ask for one more summer.
