Naxos

That arch. A fading white, it stands out stark against the blue horizon. Savor it: it frames the sea. The sea, the sea! The sea, a pure blue capped with wonderful white crests, the sky a little lighter, few clouds to speak of, just a tuft here and there above the distant Parian peaks. Distance, then, a flattening of perspective, the browns of the closer mountains fading into blue. (A hazy blue, what Da Vinci once called atmospheric.) Waves slap against the spumy breakwater. This and the strong wind resonate. This is pure. Beautiful.

Feel the sand, and tufts of browning, dried-out grass, the dusty stone embankment. Gaze upon the once white, salted marble. The weathered, well-worked stones all scattered: little nubs of columns, blocks with carved out places for long-gone wooden lintels. An ancient earthquake sent the rest into the sea. Distorted columns, headstones rest just below the surface of the water by the shore.

Remember Ariadne? Here she, too, succumbed to crushing loneliness. Her clothes abandoned, she beat her breast in good Greek fashion and lamented her fate to the immenseness of the sea: perfide, deserto liquisti in litore, Theseu? The place is as empty now as it was then. Or almost: solitary tourists tramp about the ruins. They stand intentionally apart.

Embrace this alienation. Touch the weathered, sunbaked stones with dusty, sunburnt hands. Breathe, taste the salt in the wind. Savor it. Savor everything: the sea, the stones, that arch.

(Free theme that engages in some way with things)