It is slightly difficult to write a blog entry, sitting here in an office with the view of a sunny March day, where the light hits the mountains across the valley beautifully, birds chirp and bees hum – and 20 metres to my left I can hear the mourners lamenting.
It was only some weeks ago we carried a friend’s father to the grave. I still hear the cries of the aged grandmother, lamenting her son. The mourning is cathartic, they say. Greeks invented the word. It also felt physically exhausting.
Black-clad ladies walk the streets here today, their eyes puffed and full of tears. Their crying cuts right through the guts.
Outside, the road is fenced off, awaiting tomorrow’s funeral procession and today, this afternoon, in a few minutes in fact, the return of the mayor whose wish it was to be laid at rest on Tilos.
Home is where you want to be rested one day, a friend always says. Tasos Aliferis is returning home today.
When I walked through the blossoming fields today, I thought: Wouldn’t it be nice if tomorrow instead of throwing three handful of dust into the grave, someone stood up and showered the casket with an armful of flowers?
Tilos is beautiful at this time of the year.
A strange mixture of moods…