| " ........ TIME IN BOZCAADA
Calendars are altogether unnecessary on Bozcaada. Anyone who's intimately familiar with nature on the island can tell you which week of which month it is simply by taking a look around and sniffing and listening to the sounds in the air. Even if the vineyards aren't visible, the flowers and herbs alone tell plenty... If pink, red, and purple anemones are spreading out the hills, you know it's spring - the second week of March, let's say. If the scent of " sand lilies" pervades the air, you can conclude that it's the first week of August, and that summer is at its peak.
Not a single week on Bozcaada resembles the one before it. Time, the seasons - indeed, life itself - seem to flow like a warm breeze. Change follows change without end. Far from being an unrelenting, tragic warning of death, it is, rather, an existential reminder heightening your awareness of the fact that you're alive. That's because here, there is no wall between you and nature. Here, you aren't just close to nature, you're in the very heart of it. Nature isn't just a view of what lies beyond, but the fundamental setting in which you live your life. Even if you resist for a time, a surreptitious flirtation soon begins: You find yourself wanting to find out more about her, to grow to be close friends with her, to form a bond with her. And she, in return, will make bid after bid to sustain your attention as she dons one colorful outfit after the next, primps and perfumes herself, constantly changes.
To truly know and understand the island is all but impossible for those who only see it as it is during a particular month or season. To claim otherwise would be like claiming to understand someone based solely on having seen a photograph taken in old age or during elementary school days. Most visitors of Bozcaadaare familiar with the island as she is in July or August, so they can't be said, in fact, to know her. What the photographs in their hands reveal is limited at best......"