Window in the alley. Woman and pomegranate.

Page seventeen.

Window in the alley. Woman and pomegranate.

This alley is always cool, even in the hottest weather. The stone walls, as if written by time, hold the shadow and whispers of old conversations.

Today I stopped at a window. It was wide open, and in it - as if in a frame - sat a woman. Gray-haired, with a bright headscarf and a smile in which there was sunshine. She was eating a pomegranate. She broke it into pieces, carefully took out the seeds and put them in a cup.

- Treat me? - she suddenly said. I was confused, but came closer. She handed me a spoon with grains. - Helps remember the good, - she said. - And improves the mood. Especially when men don't listen.

We both laughed. Then she told me how she moved to Corfu thirty years ago, falling in love with the island at first sight. “The people here are like pomegranates,” she said. “They look tough, but they’re sweet inside.”

I left after eating a spoonful of grains and taking with me another story.

Continued on the next page.