An amber dusk over Athens. A tender cool breeze, slightly talkative, wandered through the streets, caressing souls receptive to tenderness and bodies impatiently surrendered, perhaps too early, to the pleasures of a summer not yet here.

I stepped out onto the small balcony of the house. It barely large enough to hold a tiny round tin café table and two chairs where, with good will and some modesty, two visitors might manage to sit, and enjoy nature. I sat alone and longed for the moment when my soul, freed from selfishness and complaint, will cease turning outward in search of happiness in others, and instead surrender itself to gratitude for all that has reached it and perfumed it. Joys and sorrows alike, the pleasant and the painful things of life.

The sounds of the city accompany me in my reverie. Cars, needless horns, voices and the rough noise of teenagers, impatient passersby. Every now and then a bird sings.

In a kind of utopian ecstasy, I imagine that I live in a moment of a future age, one in which everyone has grown quiet and stands gently still, gazing respectfully into the faces of others. I dream of a moment when the whole world becomes one endless embrace with room enough for all. I imagine — no, what am I saying? I truly see it formed within the crimson shapes of the clouds, a time without strangers and one’s own people, a new era without enemies and friends, an age of reverent love for life itself.

The twilight has passed now; the sun has set. Night is here.