The balmy summer breeze brought with it the resinous scent of cypress. From my perch atop the hill, I studied the village tucked into the folds of the valley. Lights dotted the scene, a mirror of the golden stars. Tiled rooftops glowed in the soft moonlight and I tapped my toes to the tinny music of a distant celebration. Above, the constellations wove spiral patterns that were almost dizzying in their intricacies, a secret map understood only by philosophers and sailors.