If countries had their birthday date then Greece was born during summer time. And if times had birth place, then the Greek summer was born at Cyclades. A hug of islands, holding a miracle. Among this miracle stands Sikinos, a small paradise in the blue of the Aegean.
Chora: white houses perched in the mountains, a flock of seagulls that were just to relax and took root. The land: smell of thyme and dried grass, the sustainable growth of the sun and salt. Coastline: small welcoming beaches and, in between, bare ancient rocks. Burned from the sun, still refreshed by the sea breeze, while coming into life under the moonlight. Wealth: sea roots, wet roads of toil and joy.
In Sikinos time seems to have stopped. Perhaps it is because it found the right spot.