Hydra Island, Greece
The village sits above the harbor, seemingly untouched for millennium. The cannons point out to the see at an enemy long since fallen to the throws of time and change. As the seagulls squawk and scavenge, the sparsely forested hillside looks on, unafraid of the slow encroachment of the visitors on its frontier. It knows that in the waiting game it will emerge victorious against its small, temporary opponents. The ship horns Blair to signal to each other their comings and goings, beckoning in friends and strangers alike and echoing out wishes of safe travels and farewells. The presence of the fisherman rises and lowers with the tide, casting the gaze of the onlooking resterauteers along with their line. Horse hooves on cobblestone streets can be heard in the distance, as if a door had opened up to leak through the sounds of a time almost forgotten. Something beyond words resides here, but it is felt with every breath.