Wind blowing on and on forever, churning the sky and sea together into a wild landscape of whipped lead, a sprinkle of sunshine and a dash of salt. Brittle oak leaves twirling through the air without any control or chance to escape the claws of a beast that is the wind. Silver-green olive trees swaying and bowing to the sea.
I sit on a rock with a thermos flask of tea and a hearty spiced cocoa muffin, all the while battling with the wind over the pages of my book, my hair flying around in all directions as if I was Baba Yaga riding her saucer.
Stone houses with stone chimneys and orange tiled roofs, stone walls along the narrow lanes weaving like a strip of grey cloth among the patches of red-brown fields, ancient olive groves and vineyards.
First raindrops splattering on the pages of my book. A ray of hope:
I wish you sun-blest December days and fire-lit evenings.