Ashley

I carefully spin the display of postcards, mesmerized by the beauty contained within each frame as it flashes by. A faint protest is produced by the sudden movement of the metal frame. I examine a single card, tracing my fingers around the white boarder. The image portrays a seaside, with innumerable pin prick homes dotting the seascape, lined up against the oceans shore like a long line of ivory dominoes. Spouts of vibrant blue appear commonly, appearing like sapphire gems on a crown, sitting comfortably on the roofs of the Grecian homes, and mimicking the colour of the sparkling water below. Yet, despite the astounding scene portrayed in the display, the postcard is unable to truly capture the inconceivable beauty of the sight before me. Stretching out in a panorama before me, the sun spreads a blanket of light and enchantment over the land, and gives a crystal clarity to the ocean resting serenely below. I sigh contentedly, and return the card to its shelf, and bring my auburn hair up into a hasty bun, and gather my canvas bags loaded with groceries from the local, flourishing market, and set on my way home. Drifting through the crowded streets isn't as uncomfortable as it once was; the brushing of bodies against one another; the smells of local food cooking, accompanied by the scent of fresh seawater nearby; and the excited shouts and laughter are all invigorating to me. The atmosphere is familiar and reassuring. Although, the notion of returning home always outweighs the appeal of the community gatherings and wandering dazedly throughout them. The journey home was brief, even considering my leisurely walking pace. After crossing through the simple front courtyard, and over the main threshold, I deposit the groceries on the kitchen counter and grab a single red apple from within. I cross the small, tiled kitchen straight out onto the patio, and chose my favourite wicker chair to relax into. Slowly, I lift my gaze from the sweet apple in to focus on the remarkable scene before me. In the near distance, the great Santorini volcano rises from the ground, its peak soaring high above the clouds. The active wonder lives beyond the concept of time, and I watch attentively as the frothy clouds dance slowly around the volcano's top, with such grace and familiarity that in my state of reverie I cannot help but to compare them to two perpetual dancers, intertwined and moving in perfect harmony. Mimicking each other's moves with an eternal unity. The fading blue sky balances on the crest of the mountain, as though the peak supports the weight of the world itself. Perhaps I know, subconsciously or not, that despite the intense beauty of this view, and its mesmerising qualities, it will not last. Soon the bright blue will fade to indigo, and then a void less black beyond it. Soon an anxious veil of darkness will cover everything and everyone and bring with it an infectious sense of fear. The laughter will die away from the streets, and the charming salt smell will be replaced by a seeping sulphuric odour that burns away at our lungs. Soon the dooms day will occur again, as it has habitually done before. For though I live in awe of this magnificent site, I cannot completely banish my fear. Yet, as I sit so contentedly here, I know there is no other place I would rather be, for my own set of scales have tipped; my fears are paradoxical, for I find the idea of leaving this paradise more fearsome than staying within it.