Olive trees of Corfu. Sunset in Agios Gordios.

For me, the olive trees of Corfu aren't just a landscape. They're a feeling I return to.

I've seen them in different ways. In the morning—calm, almost transparent, when the light filters through the foliage and doesn't linger. In the afternoon—dense, collected, when the shade beneath them becomes the only place of peace. But most of all—at sunset.

Sunset comes slowly in Agios Gordios. It doesn't fall, doesn't break—it seems to unfold in time. First, the air changes. Then the color of the sea. And only then the olive trees.

Their leaves begin to catch the light. Silvery, warm, alive. Every movement of the wind changes their hue, and it seems as if the trees are breathing with the sea.

At that moment, they become different. Not stern, not restrained—soft. Almost glowing from within.

I loved to stop and simply watch. Not to remember, but to be there. On such evenings, I didn't want to record anything, explain anything, or add anything.

The olive trees in Agios Gordios don't demand attention. They accept the light as calmly as they accept the rain, heat, and silence. Without resistance. Without expectations.

And perhaps this is precisely their special strength. They don’t change – the light around them changes. But they remain.

Sometimes I think it was next to these trees that I first felt what stability without rigidity looks like. Calm without indifference. Beauty without the desire to be seen.

Sunsets in Agios Gordios pass. The light fades. The sea darkens. But the olive trees remain.

And you leave with the feeling that something inside you has also fallen into place..

Corfu: Hiking through olive groves, villages, sunset with a stop for swimming.

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