Reflections: Listening to Nessebar

We slipped into the old town last night and went straight to bed. The morning stillness woke me up - or was it a fishing boat going out to sea?

The streets are empty in the early hours. The old town is asleep. Only the first rays of the morning sun are caressing the cold cobblestones, and the leaves of the fig trees. They are heavy with fruit and a sweet fragrance fills the air.

The air is fresh. There is this stillness I sense, a slowing down.

It is as if I’ve been here before - in this ancient place where my people have lived for a long, long time.

As if I have walked the streets but in other shoes; as if I’ve lived in the old houses that do not exist any more; as if I have worshipped in the old Hagia Sophia that is now in ruins; as if I have drunk the cold spring water from the stone fountain near it.

I can hear the heart of Nessebar, beating steadily somewhere below the peninsula, speaking to me: “I am always here”.

Have I heard this voice before?

I can hear it now in the stillness of the morning. I am listening.

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