We wake up to air as clear as water
sit on the terrace under the Carob tree
as the shadows move across the mountain
whose spine looks like a sleeping dragon
warming its reptilian blood in the morning sun
waiting its moment to arise and shake itself
free of olive groves, villas, and prickly pears
Plants are waging a defensive war
against heat and drought and hungry creatures
not only cacti, but the cups of Mediterranean
Acorns are tough and scaled with prickles
and dark green gloss or pale silver green
dress the trees from Olive to Eucalyptus
The absence of people, as Cretans
hide indoors in COVID lockdown caution
makes us feel like the last people on earth
as we drive the back roads where we are scarcely likely
to be caught by policemen sleeping somnolent in their station
in the Winter midday hour – blazing fierce, this close to Africa
No tourists to disturb the hibernating hoteliers
piles of nested chairs congregate in corners of kafenio courtyards
but supermarkets still shelter cars from the sun
while masked customers complete their weekly shop
but masks don’t stop the swapping of sparse gossip
at the open-air market—fruit and vegetables piled high as ever
This is Crete in COVID lockdown Winter
hotter than a British summer and dry
except for the occasional storm when Greek gods play bagatelle
bouncing thunderballs around the mountains
and drenching the lands in torrential rain
flash flooding the dry gorges and riverbeds
We steep like teabags in the many moods
from spectacular sunrises bursting up from cliff-bounded sea
sunrays angling through the odd cloudy day
resting tourist boats on the sparkling bay
awaiting their turn at the boatyard beauty parlour
purple bloom on ripening black olives
Family bubbles emerge for the olive harvest
for some things in life must go on as normal
and for a few weeks, the groves are as busy
as the centipedes that appear each morning on the terrace
– there is knocking down of olives, bonfiring the prunings
blueing the air with smoke plumes – testament to the busyness
And afterwards, the empty garden chairs doze off again
underneath the olive trees…
This is Crete
© Andrew Wilson, 2025
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Jennifer Wagner, hosted by Grace in Poetics, invites us ti write about Local Wonders in the shadow of Ted Kooser’s poem – So This Is Nebraska
It must have been so very different that winter… a privilige to see it without all the tourists I feel. Crete must be very special with remains of all that ancient culture…
It was lovely having the place to ourselves but we could not travel too far afield and the archaeological sites were all shut up…
This poem is alive with the atmosphere that you paint, Andrew! Wow! I especially like; “We steep like teabags in the many moods from spectacular sunrises bursting up from cliff bounded sea.” ❤️❤️
Thanks Sanaa, Hard to be as imaginatively metaphorical as Ted Kooser though…
What a place to be during lockdown winter, Andrew, ‘hotter than a British summer’. You’ve brought it alive, especially in the ‘mountain / whose spine looks like a sleeping dragon / warming its reptilian blood in the morning sun’ and that familiar feeling of being the last people on earth. These lines stood out for me:
‘We steep like teabags in the many moods
from spectacular sunrises bursting up from cliff cliff-bounded sea’.
Thank you, Kim, it was a great prompt to bring out these memories of a time that stands out as one of the happiest, despite what was going on in the world…
so atmospheric and peppered with such memorable lines
“We steep like teabags in the many moods”
Thanks, Laura, that 6 months has been a rich seam for creativity…
It was fun to be taken along and and be with you in Crete.
My pleasure Colleen…
This is beautifully written, Andrew!
We steep like teabags in the many moods
Thanks, Dwight, that seems to have been the standout line from this poem…
This is absolutely exceptional writing.
If I may inflict my own memory into this, Andrew — 2nd lockdown: walking down a street in London east end and nobody was in sight anywhere, except for a man on roller-skates racing down the middle of a normally busy street. What a strange time it was.
Thanks Misky, because we were away for those six months, (Oct ’20 – Mar ’21), I don’t think we experienced the worst of
UK lockdown, before that, Barbara and I were mostly indoors anyway, our daughter brought round shopping and I was working from home, as I continued to do in Crete. I think we got out to Crete just before international travel largely shut down and the Crete lockdown (hardly necessary where we were) began two weeks after we got there. We were staying two doors from Barbara’s sister so we had company… It was nevertheless, strange…
Ahhhhhh this Crete you speak of ~~ I must travel there before my life on Earth ends. Santorini moved to position #2. Cheers and a huge thank you for sharing your lovely adventure.
Fair enough Helen, Santorini has but one, largely exploded mountain (plus a baby volcano) but Crete is made of mountains – let me know when you go so I can collect my commission from the Crete Tourist Board!
Crete seems a most-enchanting place as evidenced by your enchanting poem. I would surely love to experience it sometime. Covid lock down days were certainly surreal. You captured that well, too, in your beautifully descriptive remembrance here.
Thanks, Jennifer, if you ever get the chance, you should go…
It was so good to hear this read. The words came alive, the place came alive. This poem is a good homage to Crete.
Thank you so much, Imelda, that is true of most of the readings today, and I enjoyed puuting a face to you and Grace too! 💜
Beautiful poem, imagery and metaphors. Such grace in invention of new comparisons like steeping tea bags. As opposed to roasting in the warm weather. Thank you for sharing.