Kalimera
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A while ago, I met Kosta by the side of the road.
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He is 94. He was sitting on an old stone wall, his walking stick beside him, looking down the road — so quietly at peace, as though he and the world had long since made their agreement. I stopped. He nodded. We didn't say much. The air was still cool, and somewhere nearby, the thyme was already in bloom.
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At some point I asked him what his secret of happiness was.
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He thought for a moment. Then he smiled — the kind of smile you can't explain, only recognise when you see it.
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„Θα περάσει", he said.
It will pass.
It took me a moment to understand what he meant. Not: hang in there. Not: it'll work out somehow.
But something much quieter — a deep knowing that life always keeps moving. That after the grey, the light returns. Not someday, maybe. But with the same certainty that spring follows winter.
Always.
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These days, I keep thinking about what Easter really is.
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Not just a celebration — but a promise. That nothing stands still forever. That warmth and light return. That new days come — reliably, quietly, surely.
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In Ikaria, and across Greece, we celebrate Easter one week later. With grilled lamb, with singing, with the smell of oregano and woodsmoke drifting through the night.
But this trust — that the light always comes back — that we carry with us all year long.
Θα περάσει. It will pass. And then spring comes again.
Happy Easter — and a little bit of Ikaria for you.
Anna & Niko and the Avramidis Family