A coffee with the Acropolis in front of me.

The air is still — not yet heavy, but you can feel what’s coming. The summer sun is already warm on my face, and in a couple of hours, the heatwave will arrive like a slow tide. But now, in this small pocket of the morning, the city still breathes gently.

I sit at an open café in Plaka, shaded by a canopy and thoughts. In front of me, across the quiet stirrings of the pedestrian street, stands the Acropolis, glowing softly in the white light of early day. Its columns catch the sun like they’ve done for centuries — tall, quiet witnesses to the passage of empires, dreams, lovers, and strangers like me.

The sky is cloudless, that particular light-blue that only Greece knows. A group of policemen on motorbikes passes slowly, nodding to the street vendors. A pair of musicians begins to unpack their instruments nearby, tuning for the day ahead — they too know the heat is coming. A tourist bus arrives early, letting its passengers out in a hurry to beat the sun to the hill.

I sip my freddo espresso, cold and perfect. A second later, I reach for the glass of water — it’s already warm to the touch. I can feel the temperature rising, the city preparing to shift gears.

I look at the Acropolis again, and for a moment, I don’t think like a photographer. I don’t think about filters or lenses or exposure settings. I just sit, quietly, in awe — how lucky am I to be alive, to be here, to be witnessing this?

Then instinct returns.
I open my backpack. The drone is ready, memory cards in place, ND filters packed — the light is already too harsh without them. But I hesitate, just for a second.
Can I really capture this feeling? This calmness? This quiet joy?

I’m not sure.
But I’ll try. Because this coffee, this moment, this silent dialogue between me and the city — it will stay with me.

When winter comes, where I will be, the skies will turn grey. That time, I’ll remember the white marble, the blue sky, the taste of coffee, and the Acropolis — still watching, still waiting, still there.