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Tales of the World Greek Vision Paul Otteson Stories Home In Athens, not long ago, I sat near the summit of Likavitos Hill and surveyed the city. I was exhausted after long, hot hours pounding the pavement and seeing the sights. My feet throbbed. My weary body sagged like an old balloon. As I rested, the sun slipped into a haze beyond the Acropolis, and the last of my energy drained away into the cooling stone. What a day it had been -- long and splendid in the dusty wind. I heard glasses clink softly at a nearby café table. Someone laughed. A very Mediterranean evening was underway. The daylight dissipated, the wind calmed, and the land quieted. Smog, sprawl, and city crowds all faded from awareness, melting into the dusk. A few lights began to shine out from the darker dells and winding streets of the metropolis below. Minutes passed and my mind emptied, the swarming thoughts from an eventful day settling down for the night. My eyes lost their focus; I slid gradually into a trance of fatigue and wonder. As still as my stony perch, I waited for nothing in particular.
Damn. Shaking out the cobwebs, I wearily rose and went to join the happy voices at the umbrella tables. On the road, there's a time for mystery and a time for souvlaki and beer. |