Remembering Patmos . . . and this is what happened

My room is sustained by rough cut stones, some of them obviously Maya, and memories of an idyllic time in Greece, when I lived in a house which hung from, and was incorporated into, a mountainous outcropping of stone.

This, the last room built at Hotel Casa Mexilio, got its name from a large, old seedling orange tree, called "la kajera". It’s my room now, and I love it.

--- because it’s filled with stones, textures, found objects and remnants of the past. The floor of my bathroom is like ancient tiles dredged up from the Agean, the wash basin is a hand cut limestone animal water trough, the terra cotta roofing tile of the balcony become part of the room, the French doors are repurposed from an Art Deco house which fell to the minimalist’s ax, and the garden below changes moods with the weather. Two house cats watch over me from there.

This rocking chair belonged to someone I knew, the next door neighbor, Don Maximos Rios.

There are doves which welcome the morning, and tiny frogs which sing at night, the Santiago Church bells call, and the street traffic is a half block away.

I love my room.

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