A Window with a scent of cinnamon

by Stefanos Tsamparas (Colombia)

A leap into the unknown Greece

I once visited a house. It had two big windows and a beautiful smile. The two windows made me feel free, like the summer breeze around a camp fire on a dazzling August’s night. The smile made me feel welcome, like hope does to the heart of fallen angels. The breeze touched my face and hope overtook my heart. The last sunbeams of the days were trying to make their way into the room. One may say that the window blinds wouldn’t let anyone undermine their authority; others may suggest that it was already too late. An artificial smell of cinnamon was watching me for quite some time. It eventually bought my tickets home. When I finally got there my family and friends were already standing, on this beautiful beach in Greece, smiling at me. My heart sung, as most hearts do in such occasions, a song of white. One’s heart may sing black, red, blue and other captivating songs, depending on the circumstances; and when you listen really carefully to one’s heart you can hear their song. However, a white song, is the most fascinating of them all. Joy, excitement, anger, sadness, surprise, fear are only a few of the melodies that may compose this rich symphony. One’s experiences are not categorised based on what he did, but based on how he felt. The overwhelming sound of a white melody, the dance of the heart that follows its every colour and the smell of your childhood are feelings that compose an enchanting experience. I remember all the different colours of that day; the blue sea that spoke to me in this unknown language that you may only understand in times of great despair, the red sunset that motivated me to open the windows of my heart, the nature harmonising the monsters in my head, the shores enlightening the path of my future… I was laying in the chaise longue for some time, like the paintings whose creator doesn’t know when to stop to reach perfection, listening to the stories of the waves. Some of them talked about the sun; others about exotic places far from my imagination. I listened to them carefully and when I felt that they have blessed me with their knowledge I went to the local tavern to meet my family. When I arrived there, they were already enjoying a fish banquet, telling stories of what had already passed. My dad made a joke; my brother dropped the water; I looked at one of the dishes… in Greece old people used to say that one may read the future in the eyes of the fish. I wondered for a second. The stories of the waves; the anecdotes of my father; the eyes of the fish… the present was too alluring to envision another wonderland, the past or the future. I was happy to be there. I took a deep breath and smelled an artificial cinnamon scent. A smile was etched on my face.