Sea burns in crystal blue under a sky that never hurries.

Light moves like a song half-remembered, always warm.

 

The breeze carries salt, olive, and a whisper of honey.

Somewhere between the waves and the hills, joy waits barefoot.

 

It doesn’t call, just smiles. No beginning, no end—only the feeling of being met. The kind of silence that welcomes. A chair in the shade. A fig split open. And far above, carved in time and tremor, Dragon Rock waits. Not as a place, but as a knowing. A home not found, but remembered. Where life isn’t chased, but chosen.