Apologies to those freezing in England. A warm sun shone today, cutting through the cool air. The temperature rose and though locals were still wrapped in jumpers and coats, I lunched comfortably in the sun in a tee shirt and sweated throughout some modest gardening. The blossom is out and the Judas Tree on the hill opposite this window is a bright purple. Chilly nights mean blazing olive wood fires.
The lack of broadband reduces my contact with my favourite blogs and so my world shrinks further into the parochialism of the Greek village. Today it was Argalasti market and a plant sale in Lafkos. Previously, it was the big news about someone leaving his job and moving to Promiri. Then there is Iannis giving us eggs, Chrisanthi feeding her goats, and Stavroula (no teeth, gum boots and dubious personal hygene) coming to the gate to tell us about goats in our garden, our insecure wood pile and then to weep over her 'broken heart' - she tragically lost her son - and the pain in her leg. All this matters; the rest fades.
Now I am reading Andrew Anthony and have Christopher Hitchens lined up next, so perhaps my world will grow larger again. Though, for the time being, small is intoxicatingly beautiful.