The infant, languid sun rose lazily from behind the muscular mountains to the east, ushering in the early Sunday morning with an eggshell fragility as it vacuumed away the scattered powder of the remaining stars and replaced the inky night with a dim pink hue. The legions of cicadas exploded into their relentless cacophonous racket. From the spacious deck of my villa on a hilltop above the fishing village of Kalyves on the northwest corner of Crete, Souda Bay lay resplendent in its unfettered azure cloak and was gently and slowly illuminated to display its many treasures of varying shades as the slightest of breezes eased the vast expanse of sea towards the shore. The Cretan dawn had broken.

I live for these moments, the tiny, ephemeral windows of life that only I will ever know. Warm tiles under my bare feet, a feint breeze with a hint of the sea on its lips, I cradled my hot coffee in both hands and scoured the town below for signs of early morning life. In this early twilight I saw the pastel yellow and pink of the fabulous Ekklisia Agia Paraskevi church, the pronounced dominant bookmark of Kalyves, a wonderful and friendly village that was my home for a week this summer.

Driving down the bumpy narrow lane to the beach just half a mile away, I marveled at the stillness in the air which was already warming considerably. I slipped off my sandals and surveyed the tranquility before me as the softly rumpled magic carpet of the Mediterranean Sea unfurled its banners of blue and green upon the softly shifting ramparts of Kalyves Beach, escorting careless whispers from distant shores.

I waded slowly but deliberately into the crystal-clear waters, the sand pleasantly smooth on my feet, descending as my body greedily accepted the cool embrace of my lifelong love, my domain – the sea. A gentle breaststroke took me beyond a local gentleman – “Kaliméra pós eísai”? (Good morning, how are you?) I inquired. I continued out into the vast expanse, my stroke pushing aside the water with ease, the sun warming my exposed shoulders. The sense of joy and love for the very essence of life itself was enhanced when the church bells began to chime away to my left – a beautiful, simple invitation to the local faithful to congregate at Ekklisia Agia Paraskevi.

I reached a line of yellow buoys and turned to face inland, the village was starting to wake beneath the gaze of the distant brown mountains. After 30 minutes of floating and swimming, I reluctantly headed back to shore, my stroke lazy as I welcomed the salty, stinging kisses of the sea lapping my face and shoulders. My favorite Taverna was just opening its shutters as I toweled myself half-dry and slumped into a corner chair on their verandah, feeling virtuous and beyond happy and in need of a strong Greek coffee and the accompanying biscuits and water. I let the sun burn my unshaven face, the sand and salt crystalizing amongst my stubble. I picked up my sun-drenched paperback book in the otherwise empty café. The Mediterranean, just yards away, was so still this morning that its gently billowing curtains of turquoise unfolded themselves upon the shore with a barely discernible sigh.