Feb 08. 2016
Several years ago, February month like now. With my good friend John fr. We had gone as the feast of the Arkoudiotissa Holy Mary, which christened so not to taunt but to remember that once worshipped in the same Artemis Arctos (the sacred sites remain sacred no matter how many years go by).
It was getting dark now, we were going up and suddenly saw in front of us the scene capturing as much as anything else the symbolism of the day: A young mother clutching the hand of her child, and she stood in wild blast of North ... Like other great mother and this, like other Artemis Arctos! Later wrote the following short text that I remembered now as I listen to the merciless February´s wind's whistle:
It was getting dark for good. Winter, the wind howls, bending the trees. The sky more laboured than a pencil. Threatening stone blocks lose their colour and become black shadows. Only the line of the horizon was still a little light.
It was getting dark now, Akrotiri, Chania.
The day before of one of the great feasts of winter. We were walking hurriedly in mountain trails, afraid not to start raining. Afraid of and the cold darkness and which was coming undeterred.
... And suddenly appeared the miracle! Two wayfarers.
They were in a hurry too.
A mother with a child.
There are some moments that look like poems. You read them, enjoy their magic, wonderful light emitting and guess the deeper meaning. In a nutshell: to provide the magic of life in mind and in your heart.
A dishevelled mother by the wind. And a child alight on parental protection. On mother s love.
Two souls remove the wilderness of a pitiless winter.
And the wilderness landscape.
A mother with a child.
