"Above Plakias, Crete"

"You will see a small, white chapel on the ridgeline miles away, the sun bearing down, the building a fleck of light, a cement hut, with room for an icon, a red votive candle, and for one or two believers to kneel. Around you the parched land and empty sky point less to the idea of death and more to labors in the afterlife."

"You follow the footpath crossing the brush, the rocky pastures, and the urge to climb begins to feel as necessary as the next breath. When you pass a tree half burnt long ago, the soil is soft enough to remind you of the flesh you have loved and been loved by in return. The scent of sage and thyme gathers round you, and the brown goats lolling under the shade tree stare at you, wondering if you understand what you have come to and why."

A small white chapel stands on a distant ridgeline under an intense sun, appearing as a fleck of light and a simple cement hut. The chapel holds an icon and a red votive candle, space for one or two believers to kneel. Surrounding terrain is parched and the empty sky suggests labor toward an afterlife rather than immediate death. A footpath crosses brush and rocky pastures and the urge to climb feels as necessary as breathing. A half-burnt tree and soft soil recall flesh loved and returned, while sage, thyme, and watching goats mark the journey as the destination remains hidden in harsh light.

Read at The New Yorker