Echoes from the Old Quarter, seen glimpsed strained through a glass-magnifying mirror device. Memory and the mind’s bejeweled clarity of perception. Alleys resounding to ancient laughter – long-ago summer days. The gorse was in bloom then, of course, and the wind raced and howled over the moors above the dreaming tiled village. Within the ‘Cretan Labyrinth’ lurked many a wonder… & wandering where the wind blew, my feet flew free and clattered on the cobbled crossroads-
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