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Scops owl song
Today took us across the mountains to new signs, for new places, Sougia, Paleochoraa right to the edge, almost as far as Europe would reach on the Libyan sea, unless you found a ferry to Nisson Gavdoshe. It was a drive through acres and acres of olive groves, peppered with the different green of vines and and bushes of purple and blue for nearby hives. Having wings to fly over such a place would make it hard to leave. And falling into the sea, crystal clear and deeper than standing feet could reach, held no fear. But as dusk gave way to night, the soft, hypnotic, ghost lament of the gionis nightbird, looking for a return, replaced the cicadas; the air hung heavy with the scent of jasmine and the equally hypnotic hum of rousing mosquitos now that the sun had gone down and the swallows had hunkered down for the night, at wine time.
Today took us across the mountains to new signs, for new places, Sougia, Paleochoraa right to the edge, almost as far as Europe would reach on the Libyan sea, unless you found a ferry to Nisson Gavdoshe. It was a drive through acres and acres of olive groves, peppered with the different green of vines and and bushes of purple and blue for nearby hives. Having wings to fly over such a place would make it hard to leave. And falling into the sea, crystal clear and deeper than standing feet could reach, held no fear. But as dusk gave way to night, the soft, hypnotic, ghost lament of the gionis nightbird, looking for a return, replaced the cicadas; the air hung heavy with the scent of jasmine and the equally hypnotic hum of rousing mosquitos now that the sun had gone down and the swallows had hunkered down for the night, at wine time.
