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Through Fervent Seas

Peering through the dark, ravished from a night on a bench with the soft vibrations of the ship’s engines, I saw Crete. My eyes shuttered. They wanted rest, to evaporate from the world surrounding and return to the forgotten lands where dreams relate to one another on a gossamer thread. But my mind; it singed my lashes and brows with the ferocity of ancient fable. Crete. I heard so much. I had a conscious tale of the Cretan in my mind. Who was he? Where did he come from?

A Formulation of Crete and Its New Sustaining Land

Camron Karsten
2006-10-07 13:31:24

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But to me on my early arrival within the heart of my Cretan imagery, the town was empty, dead, beautifully asleep to the course of the rising sun, which was yet to peak over the shores eastward.

Cafes and tavernas were silent except for their servants who folded the sheets and fluffed the pillows for a few and scant risers. Numinous patterns of tables and chairs were arranged like the start of a champion’s chess game, and few old locals arduously tossed a hand line in the morning’s stirring sea. The quaint harbor was still with all shops barred and gated.
With the rise of the sun, a warm soft light clothed the rooftops and bathed the various decrepit shingled windows in a panoply of Venetian hue. The two and three storey buildings were rustic with short narrow climbs toward the littered clouds of the sky. Concrete chipped in rough stucco blocks. Windows framed with raw planks of wood. They sagged with the weight of storm-soddened shingles. Some opened onto a minuscule patio fit for a single dwarf and his solitary tea party. At these, simple Venetian and old Victorian tea tables of black and maroon wire sat empty as their inhabitants slept behind closed shutters.

From opposite ends I wandered, snapping photographs of the calming scenes before me. The day of the morn was still, but inspiringly alive with the frescos of Grecian imagery. I walked westward, unsure of my destination and how long those four kilometers to the nearest campsite would take. My Cretan filled my thoughts.

The Camps of Civilization

Two days and two nights passed with time catching up to my body and knocking me astray. I wandered the beaches, slept upon them and felt the history, which eroded away with her shores. Crete, my Crete, was alive in my head and recorded in magnanimous detail on shelves and shelves of libraries. But one thing is certain; the people retain a determined heart and soul. The island ...