The village of Vasaras is amphitheatrically built with a lot of love and craftsmanship from Kalavrytine and Lagadian Peloponnese locations a century or two ago on one of the greenest slopes of Parnon.
As I was leaving the point, I felt a sting in my heart from a huge holly tree like that of Veria (6.7 km from Vasara) with serrated leaves, but without hurting me and telling me: Don’t go away, sit down, when will I see you again? and it wasn’t just that, there were other trees too: the cycads, the oaks, the beeches, the walnuts, the figs, the evening primroses, the neglected vines, the almonds trees, the peaches, the sycamores, the lindens…
I asked forgiveness to many trees and plants that I did not pay attention and have a speech with! My attention was drawn for unknown reasons by the human-shaped zebras on the old doors of abandoned or not abandoned houses. Their forehead protruding from their body, their little head and their little eyes were very telling. Each one wanted a different story to tell me obviously touched that someone after so many years of loneliness and abandonment noticed them. With patience and persistence they began to gather one by one in my photographic electronic file and take the place they deserve.
In their metal, time wrote their progressive history and rust did not reduce them but gave them plus value. They remembered the weary rosy hands that lightly touched them and these responded immediately by calling the “rooster” to allow them to enter the well-built stone yard with the well, the stable, the cellar, the henhouse, the oven, the stone staircase, the Loggia. They remembered with tears hard moments of parting for the strangeness, mainly America or Australia, tender moments of confrontations, repatriations, revolutions, betrayals, massacres, coronations, feasts but also the rebirth of loved ones in the other world, the cold, the obligatory, the barren, where only the thought of the living approaches.
They remembered the animals (za or zodana)) and their footsteps in the dirty stone alley loaded with life for exchange approaching and them magically opening the bars and gates for them wide, laden with sweat and endless hours of work in the fields.
Horses were loaded of wheat, flour, walnuts, almonds, chestnut grapes for wine, but also oilives from far away. Their trained ear picked out the musical sounds of their music-loving boss, be it the muttered pained song, the rhythmic tap of the pencil writing on the board from the equally effective apocalyptic key, or from some improvised tubercle that also generated uncut and free rhythms. (The key was placed high in a frame (hole) of the outer wall so that the children could not reach it).
To read the rest of the story you can click here and you will be found in my blogspot : roumeliotisxristos.blogdpot.
