A vibrant melody carries over a crisp, briny breeze. It weaves its way through the sun-dappled groves, where fig trees cast lattice-like shadows over the rocky ground and olives and bay laurels rise under the warm caress of Helios. Lemon and Cedrat trees stand at the edges, their boughs heavy with golden fruit, exuding a sharp, citrusy brightness that shudders through the earthy stillness like laughter. Beneath the boughs shine the sacred Tears of Chios. The resin from ancient trees hardens into crystalline droplets that glint as sunlight caught in water. Above the groves the open sky is an endless expanse of azure blue that seems to pull everything upward. Where rocky cliffs meet the sky, wild rosemary and lavender sprout from cracks in the stone, their roots gripping the earth with an almost unbearable, shimmering tenacity. Sparrowhawks soar on unseen currents, their cries echoing against the white cliff faces. A weightless feeling of free fall, of liberation, as though the earth and sky have struck a perfect lingering harmony.