The Windmill of Oía

At the very northern tip of Oía, where the village runs out into the cliffs, stands one of the white windmills the Cyclades are so well known for. It was my last day on Santorini, and I climbed up once more to photograph it before the drive back to the airport.

The sky that day was such a deep, clear blue that the pure white of the mill almost seemed to glow. A single thin veil of cloud drifted across it, as if placed there with a brush. Below me lay the Aegean, smooth and wide, and the steady Cycladic wind - the same one that once turned these mills - swept across the cliff.

Photographically, a subject like this lives on reduction: one white shape, one blue sky, one clean line between land and sea. No clutter, no distraction, only geometry and light. Sometimes the simplest thing is the hardest, because it leaves no room for mistakes.

It made for a fitting farewell to the island - quiet, bright, and pared down to the essentials.