After last week's deluge the river ran wild with rain. It had transformed overnight from a sinuous set of bends where kingfishers flared like blue flames to a wild and churning tempest. The mud-brown water was washing off the mountains and cascading through steep granite galleries to roil across the plain towards the lake. The thrum and roar were recognisable, storms having altered the shape … Continue reading Journey to Ithaca
Category: Prespa
A Way Within
A few days ago our winter warmth arrived. Eight tons of beech were unloaded at the foot of the garden, having been hauled from the mountain forests behind our home. It's now been bandsawed by the woodcutters who do the rounds of the village with a tractor-mounted blade, the rising metallic whine starting with the light each day. They worked on into the dark, sawing their … Continue reading A Way Within
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 