Lying

The wind, last night! Whooshing and swooping and cavorting up and down the valley, over the ridges and back again.

The poppies bent and danced and survived. Their sun-soaked red doesn't actually exist except in the moment. The camera is doing its best but it's lying.

So the air this morning was sharp and bright and once our various chores were done we went to the lighthouse at the northernmost tip of the island, delightfully, for anyone who's studied ancient Greek, called Faros. It's been on my wish-list for a long time but I wasn't expecting a rather stolid French-built building, nor for the winding route to take us past Perivouliou where there was no choice but to stop and climb down the rocks to the turquoise sea and go crunching on the fine-stoned beach.