I was sitting here on this same chair eleven years ago. It is half past six in the morning. Mytilini is right in front of me. Very close. High up on the hills to my right and left, several villages are just visible. For the most part, the island looks desolate. A small white boat speeds past from right to left. Above the shoreline, on the right, is an Ottoman castle. It is in tune with the bleak, beautiful surroundings. On my left, the sun is rising. It will illumine the whole island, its ledges and its blind corners. Later, the island will look hazy. By the evening, bright again, but with darkness in the ledges and blind corners.
In the houses, they have turned on the lights. In the castle, too. With its dim lights strung out like pearls towards the sea, the castle looks as if it will move across to this side. When the lights were turned on at night, the island came closer.
Tomorrow morning, everything will be in its place. The island, the villages, the chair on the opposite coast.