It's that time of year again, when the sun's white hot rays beat down on this small island. The fields are parched and the land is dry. Occasionally the faintest of breezes floats in off of the becalmed sea. For those that are lucky enough not to have to work, the cool azure waters beckon.
Summer here is a lazy time, of afternoon siestas behind shuttered windows.
It is when the oleanders paint our roads with whites, baby pinks and reds.
Summer is the time for enjoying nectar-sweet fruit...
... and soul-searing sunsets of indescribable beauty.
It is when the contrast of sun-bleached rocks and deep blue sea ...
and light and shade
is at its greatest.
It is a seasons of contrasts and contradictions. It is the best of seasons. It is the worst of seasons. It is the craziest of seasons.