I roam the wide garden. Lie down into the deck chair in the shade of an old
olive tree. The air is scented with the smells of wild thyme and lemons. To
the singing of the cicadas I watch the feats of the swallows. Thus I easily
forget the time.
Everything here in the garden grows for the guests and the hotel’s restaurant. Five hectares of pristine nature. Fruits, vegetables, herbs. Fresh and organic. I'm picking tomatoes for our salad. The oranges are ripe too. They smell irresistible. I'll have one right here.
They are tough. They have worked hard all their lives, serving the people of the island. Carried their loads up the steep paths. Quietly, without complaining. Now they have found refuge and peace to rest. When you pet them, the donkeys are cute and tender.
The garden used to belong to the nearby church. Ioanni's mother was
involved in the community all her life. She took care of the people and
the garden. Her care allowed both to blossom.
She used to say: our soul is also a garden.
