"White Greek chapel lashed by sunlight... Vineyards all around you, melon fields, fruit-bearing fig tree and, here and there, solitary, some olive-trees... Toasted and golden, the blades of grass now steamed chaff... And instead of angels, your cicadas sing the Canon of Mercy every afternoon, until late, in their own way. It is an overturned throne, all this blue of a plain sky, which once was the...
"White Greek chapel lashed by sunlight... Vineyards all around you, melon fields, fruit-bearing fig tree and, here and there, solitary, some olive-trees... Toasted and golden, the blades of grass now steamed chaff... And instead of angels, your cicadas sing the Canon of Mercy every afternoon, until late, in their own way. It is an overturned throne, all this blue of a plain sky, which once was the...
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