Listening in Silence

I sat down, without crossing my legs, which I was also told was disrespectful, and received my coffee and loukomi graciously. I listened to their sounds and admired the impenetrable conversation that was floating about the room. I could not understand the language, so I remained silent, imposing my own interpretations.

Then, my friend told me the nun who brought us the coffee had noticed the cross on my neck. She was dressed in black as the others were, leaving only her face and hands exposed. She carried wisdom in her jawline, and her hands rested peacefully in her lap. Instantly, she began to speak to me, and although I could not understand her, her connection to me through our faith was more comprehensible than words. Her warm and perceptive eyes taught me my next lesson in silence. Without noise, human ties from any culture or age can pack a more powerful and lasting punch than any confusing banter that may come from words. That nun’s lines ran deep in my veins, not in my head.

Demetrius and George brought us all back to the house to feed us. They served us eggs picked from the coop fifteen minutes earlier, with aromatic, flavorful olive oil, bread baked by their sister and cheese made by George, the shepherd himself. I ate the egg whites first then popped the entire yolk into my mouth. It burst on my tongue like the climax of a water ride, soothing and golden. I sopped up the yolk from another egg with my delectable, chewy bread, and finished it all off with freshly cut and fried potatoes sprinkled with creamy feta. This meal was the most exquisite meal I have had to this day. The freshness, simplicity and care that this family bestowed upon us touched my heart and renewed my spirit like nothing else could.

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