I’ve been reading and reading and reading, determined to finish all of September’s submissions, but I know that if I don’t post a blog when it’s expected by my vast horde of followers (!), they fear that something terrible has befallen me. So I’ve broken off reading the last September story to do this….
Fab picture, isn’t it? Every June I go to a little resort in Crete for two weeks of lying on a beach practically from dawn to dusk. We, husband and I, stay in private apartments in a village above the beach resort, and it’s typical of its type: white houses clinging to a rocky hillside, some perched on concrete stilts to maximise every last inch of space – and spectacular sea view.
It has one main street, and a criss cross of narrow paths and steep steps thread up and down from it between the layers of houses.
I usually go for a wander once the heat of the day begins to pass, just as the locals begin to seize the same moment to go about their lives. Hosing down the paths with water to keep down the dust. Watering pretty pots stuffed with fresh herbs. Calling from one side of the street to the other rather than hiking down twenty steps and up again. Washing flapping on lines strung between whitewashed walls. Pick-up trucks driving slowly by selling fruit and veg – or terracotta pots. Tractors chugging up the road laden with straw bales, olive tree cuttings, or greens for the restaurants. Sometimes you do still even see a donkey being led by a bent old lady wearing black.
And look what I came upon in one corner last summer. Obviously a very important wash day. Do you think a wee girl lives there?!
It made me chuckle and of course I had to stop and take a picture of it. I’m not sure what it makes me think of in story terms, so this time I’ll simply hand it over to you!