The Thermaikos Bay where I ride my bike is a quiet place. I go there sometimes to take my decisions. The sea smells badly in the summer, because of the sewers. Seagulls fly above the water, touching it every now and then on extended wings. It seems romantic, but in reality they are looking for human excrement. This is the sea of my hometown, where beauty and ugliness merge. Human souls are a bit like that too. Une mélange…You cannot separate the light from its shadows. What you touch in your loved ones, when you dare touch them, is a reflection of colors, some dark, some brilliant, a confusion of feelings and thoughts, kind acts, cruel acts, the waltz of ghosts dancing around you, always leaving their mark on you, no matter how softly they pass by. And the dreams being born in the blue light of dawn are sometimes lost for ever, leaving behind them the sweet smell of death.
I do not know if Greece is a place that is dying. Nor do I know if I shall be here to see it happen. I would like to leave before winter sets in. But before I go, I might just have time for one more ride, one more dream, on my old, rusty bike...