When the palm trees listen

Page thirty-fifth.

When the palm trees listen

I stand barefoot on the balcony. The rain has already passed, leaving soft shadows of drops on the tiles. The palm tree is in no hurry - it sways slightly, as if listening to the sea, and the sea whispers: "Now everything is clear."

And suddenly, without warning, a rainbow appears over the water. A real one. Not for a photograph. Not for a note. Just to be.

These days in Corfu are like letters without an address. They are not in a hurry, they do not demand. They contain warmth, air and permission to simply breathe .

I stay a little longer. Because when the palm trees listen, you can't leave.