Demenico Cone

Along the rocky coasts of Mani, a mile out of Limeni and a short while before reaching the fairy cave, is the area that we locals call Demenico; I was born somewhere in this area, on one of those lonely rocks.
My name was passed down to me from my ancestors, the shaded rocks which remain unseen by daylight but for the midday sun. A name that must be Venetian, probably adjusted by the locals, established in a word-of-mouth fashion that spans centuries, all the way back to the time, when the Venetian navy would lay siege to this land, without ever managing to conquer it. Who knows, maybe it was the name of a ship that sank there or the name of a washed-up Venetian navy man that gave this area its name.
My color… is black and white, washed clear from the foam of the waves, and absolute, as are the ones who never have been tainted by foreign invaders; black next to white, placed in the inimitable way, distinct of this land.
I am gone now, swept away by the sea; chiseled, my shape changed from a rough, wild and lonely little rock to a smooth, accessible and pleasant one, although I never forget my roots in Demenico.