• The Wanderer’s Tales

We sit on the wooden deck as the last rays of sun fade behind the hills. The world has grown quiet, as if holding its breath before the dark arrives. A friend of mine, serene and wordless, places a small brass bowl before us. She

The sun is unrelenting. Even the birds take cover in the olive trees. I find myself in a sleepy coastal village, walking slowly between stone houses whose shutters are drawn closed. The scent of fig and dust drifts in the air. A woman watering her

Between two low hills lies a hidden valley that few know. I descend its slope in the morning light, the sun just warming the soil beneath my feet. All around me, rows upon rows of lavender stretch out like soft waves, their color muted but

It is midday, and the lake is so still that the sky lies upon it like a second world. I sit at the edge of an old wooden dock, legs swinging freely, toes brushing the water’s surface. A distant loon calls once, and then silence

It begins with a change in the wind—subtle, but sure. The leaves shift tone, a hush rolls through the streets, and then the first drop strikes my forehead like a cool fingerprint. I look up and smile as the sky opens wide. I run for

By June, the days are stretching to their fullest. The sun lingered long into evening, casting a golden edge on everything it touched. I found myself walking an old gravel path at dusk, following a line of swaying grasses and buzzing crickets. The warmth of

It is the final day of May, and the air carries the subtle weight of the coming season. I walk a familiar trail through the old forest, where spring’s green has deepened, and the birds grow quieter, as if conserving their song for warmer days.

At the edge of a monastery was a small walled garden. I entered just before dusk, when the shadows grew long and bees made their final rounds. Peonies bloomed in one corner, heavy and still, while a frog croaked once at the edge of the

I followed the river as it ran bright and full through the May countryside, its banks thick with reeds and wildflowers. Everything shimmered—sunlight on water, dragonflies in mid-air, even the smooth stones beneath the surface. I sat on a large rock, letting my toes dip

On a sunlit afternoon, I climbed the low hills that rose beyond the village, each step drawing me closer to the sky. The wind picked up as I reached the ridge, cool and playful, tugging at my sleeves and hair. I stood still, letting it

A narrow path wound through an orchard where the petals of apple blossoms had begun to fall. They fluttered down with the breeze like pale pink snow, settling into a soft blanket on the grass. I walked slowly, the ground beneath my feet whispering with

By mid-May, the trees had become lush with leaves. What once had been bare silhouettes were now complete shelters of green. I wandered into the woods, where the sun filtered through in speckled patterns, dappling the path ahead. I found an old stone bench beneath