As I was looking at the raindrops hitting the windows this morning, as if my psyche were dilapidated, I said to you, why don't you go put Lana del Rey on the stereo, while I bring the conium?
But of course, logic prevailed (your amused look had something to do with that) and I am writing this instead. "I'll make pasta tonight", you promised, and that was it. So easy!

A long, hot summer it has been. One more in our lives. Summer is the currency in which I count my life. I have lived XX summers. I am XX summers old. I have XX summers to count on during my old days. Sort of a pension scheme, money at the bank that no one can touch...

2015 was the summer where Greece spent its last holidays, before coming back from the islands to an exceptionally rainy September and realising that, what a surprise! we are worse than before!..
2015 was the summer of the refugees, the ones I saw on Leros coming out from their tiny sort-of-boats, shouting out loud "Hello Greece!", like a Eurovision parody, while all other European nations were watching apathetic, fighting over who is going to accept less.
What a relief it must be to avoid war and touch solid ground!
2015 was the summer of long queues on ATMs, of capital controls. Of rethinking ourselves.
But most of all, 2015 was the summer of the 3 year old Syrian boy drowned on the Turkish beach, face hidden in the sand. Aylan was younger and not much bigger that my teddy bear, and now every time I hold it, I can't help thinking how some plush animals can be luckier than real children... I hope Aylan rests in peace, in a better world, with his mother, brother, and a thousand teddies to keep him warm...

Of course there were nice moments too, like the orange hours looking at the sunset on Sifnos, or the sunrise, the long walks, the coffees and the tyropittas, and the hot air balloon in Kappadokya. That red glass wine in Uchisar, that scene as I came out of bed every morning in Sikinos, only to be permeated by the colour blue; Cerulean blue, or Ultramarine, depending on Neptune's will. And during the evening, that orange colour in the horizon, realising my island was burning and if the wind changed, I, my house would be history in a matter of hours.
But of course in the end love prevails, and on Sikinos the marriage of the century wrote the

                                                                                                                                                                                     Happy End

of our summer.
Earth, Wind and Fire, this summer 2015. May they all accompany us during the long apnoea until next summer.
Until next May.