It was morning. The light was just beginning to gain strength, and the air still carried the freshness of night, though it was already warm. The cliffs—massive and unmoving—seemed to hold their breath, as if the very landscape sensed it was on the edge of a moment filled with stillness and light. From a distance, everything looked like a painting—too perfect to be real, and yet there it was.

The horizon was sharp and clear, and the blue of the sky blended seamlessly with the color of the sea, allowing you—if only for a moment—to forget about the rest of the world.

This view can be seen from a scenic overlook in the village of Keri, right next to a unique but atmospheric little café—the Ionian Sunset Café. The entrance isn’t free—you’re expected to order something to gain access. We didn’t know this beforehand, but it wasn’t an issue. We each got a drink and sat on a wooden rocking bench, letting the silence and the view wash over us.

I ordered an iced coffee—cold, strong, perfectly balanced. I remember it well. Probably one of the best I’ve ever had. Maybe it was the setting, or maybe it was just really well made. Either way, I found it hard to pull myself away from it—even with such a view in front of me.

Prices at the café were quite reasonable, though when I looked the place up recently, I found a lot of criticism online. In my opinion—completely undeserved. The space is well designed and safe, which matters when you're standing so close to the edge of a cliff. There are places to sit, peace, quiet, and that kind of open space where you can truly breathe. And local businesses need to survive too. The owners were also very kind—especially if you make even a small effort to speak their language. That’s part of travel too: respect for the place and the culture you’re visiting.

But back to the moment—sitting there on that bench, I looked out into the distance at the line of cliffs slowly sinking into the sapphire sea. And then, suddenly, my phone blared with an alert—literally. A weather warning: storms, high winds, possible danger. For a second, it felt unsettling. But the sky above us was calm. Only one large cloud drifted lazily on the horizon.

That day, we were planning to visit Mount Skopos. We didn’t know what awaited us there, but we chose not to abandon our plans. That part of the story found its way into another image of mine—the one titled Skopos Elevated Beauty.

This moment here, though—this was about a simple pause. A smooth coffee, the gentle sway of a bench, and a space that quieted everything around us.

Another image from this same place is one I titled Wonders of Mizithres.

Just like with this image—and others in the series—I included the original, unedited version alongside the final piece, so the transformation is visible. The raw photo was later brightened, colored, and turned into a painting using the oil effect. That final touch didn’t just give it a painterly character—it also softened the lines, smoothed the details, and helped bring out the calm atmosphere of the scene.