Like the grace of a seagull whom dips into the rippling seas, the herald of the Gods skipped along the Mediterranean Sea. Clutching both the written demand and his kerykeion tightly when the child of morning, rosy-fingered dawn arose from the horizon.

An order from the King himself, a demand upon the Goddess Calypso. To release the mortal trapped on her shores for he must get home, in urgency to prevent the dangers of what was faced in Ithaca.

Lush mountains and glistening beaches came to view, the enchanting scent of violet and warm smoke seemed to enclose the isle, several of Calypso’s nymphs tended to the plants; keeping its prime condition.

Calypso’s cave was more captivating, twirling vines across the ceiling, violet and parsley decorated the gentle ground; the smell of thyme mixed with the steam from bubbling springs. A cosy scenery.

There the rugged king sat, outside the inviting cave; palms wet, eyes a foggy mess. Every day was the same for 7 years, sitting on a rock sulking by rosy-fingered dawn; enchanted by dusk. The beautiful Goddess settled inside, weaving by her loom humming quietly.

She looked up briefly, continuing her skilled work; “Hermes, I did not expect your presence here today.” Calypso paused the looming for a moment, signaling to one of her nymphs to prepare food and drink for the two

“Sit, you should stay and chat.”