Empires of any kind eventually slide, having risen within the shifting and fickle orbit of political, social, economic and religious realities. It's in the nature of things to fade so that what once seemed eternal exists only as memory, or as a scattering of stones. The traces mark the land with ruins and clues, half-hidden or submerged, … Continue reading The Long Ridge Down
Author: julianhoffman
I'm a writer living beside the Prespa Lakes in northern Greece.
This Lavender World
Despite its colour having faded to a pale relic of its name, the lavender in the garden remains an illuminated host. For much of the summer its spires of scented stems attract the bright and the beautiful: the glazed and glossy greens of chafers drowsily clambering about the flowers; red admiral and swallowtail butterflies clinging with filament … Continue reading This Lavender World
September Sun
The blackberries by the lake have been readied and turned dark by the sun. I work steadily through the afternoon, dropping them into a pail by my feet, working my way through the end of summer stillness as I meander along the bramble banks. But no matter how good the haul, or how rewarding the gathering of wild, abundant fruit, there … Continue reading September Sun
The Shepherd’s Song
It often feels as though I'm the only person anywhere on the plateau. I'm kept company by lizards basking on the sun-struck stones, the wind raking the dry grasses like fingers through hair, and the relic memories of the Greek Civil War still lingering about the bunkers. On other days, though, I discover that I'm not alone: shepherds … Continue reading The Shepherd’s Song
A Season of Fire
I woke to the scent of wildfire. The curtains stirred faintly while I rose from the bed, but by the time I reached the window the night breeze had taken back its hint of smoke. The dim outlines of the moonlit mountains were smudged against the sky and the village lights lay scattered across the dark. There … Continue reading A Season of Fire
Julian Hoffman 