On terraced hillsides
olive and citrus groves
perch like a battle weary army
bivouacked from the heat of the day.
closer in the bougainvillaea’s
red and white brilliance
appear at odds with the arid looking
soil they are rooted in.
Pomegranate and fig grow side by side
and the tamarisk seem to be the
Minarets of the cicadas
their incessant screeching
a paradox to the gentle lapping
and myriad blues of the Aegean.
Further out the neighbouring islands
sprawl over the sea like some
mythical creatures crouched low
along the horizon.
in the unfamiliar heat
and part of me cannot wait
to take up my pen.
For now though
I am content to gaze in awe
at the beauty of this ancient land.