I can describe it only with hints and shades.. A fairy light streaming from the skies above the Sea of ​​Marmara, engulfed by the final target from the start; playful with the soaring seagulls, flying wings in roaring waves above the floating ships in rhythmic daily crossings, and thirsty for attention, stealing it skilfully in great gulps, landing with explosion on the cool like metal surface of the seawater, melting it with glamour, waving it in sea-like temptations as it spreads its splendour in a trail of light. Like a breeze, tender and gentler as it approaches its encounter with the Princes’ Islands, the most captivating of all my visits, even more caressing in the immediate touch to their shores, warming their coastal sands in sunlit colour, and so dreamy, reaching their very heart, harbouring at the pier of the chosen one, desiring and devoted, embracing it in the magic of its invisible love. The isle is completely transformed.

My visit is also true to itself with multiple different faces, shining in irresistible charm, amazingly reflected in the rainbow, overflowing with colours. Irradiating in the enchantment of love, dazzling the enamoured gaze of the isle with its veil of seafoam droplets, interwoven with pearls, and mother-of-pearl, and millions of particles of sand, glittering and illuminating the surface of the endless blue. Entwining in its mysterious net of aerial threads the villas, come to life from a fairy tale, bewitched in their one hundred years sleep, and only waking up in the instants of seasonal echoes, sunk in the exuberance of their long-lived history and the luxury of their genuinity. The most exquisite lace and embroideries, artful ornaments from wood, children of the whimsical nature, bestowed from the treasures of the island, enlivened by its magic atmosphere, carved and shaped by the masterful hands of the Victorian craftsmen.

On top of the hill, the ruler of the island, in the captivation of its mistress, walking secretly in between its hidden corners and bursting into flames from within the crimson shadows. An everlasting vision, the only shifting are the spots and dots of contrasts and the fading tones from brilliant to dark. Immersing into melancholy of memories that have resurfaced from the quiet of the silenced fire. Nestling its final glimmers in the sleeping world, sparkles charged out of the day gone by, bursting one after the other in countless explosions of colour, shining brightly in illumination, like embers showering from the nocturnal sky, and liquefying as they touch the sea-like desert in swift streaks, smoother here, sharper there in the vibration of the movement. Flowing into the trumpeting light of the festive occasion, having risen at their vacated place.