Last Summer (Watercolor)

The staircase winds down the cliffside like a ribbon unraveling toward the sea. Smooth, sun-bleached stone steps, worn by years of bare feet and salt air, lead the way through the scent of wild thyme and warm pine. The cicadas hum, their song rising and falling with the gentle breeze that carries the distant laughter of children playing in the waves below.

Last summer, these steps became a path between moments—lazy mornings in the shade of the olive trees, afternoons of salt on our skin and sun in our hair, evenings when the horizon turned gold and the sea mirrored the sky. I remember pausing halfway down, barefoot and breathless, just to take it all in. The Aegean stretched endlessly, a shimmering expanse of blue so deep it felt like the world itself dissolved into it.