And another tent !

There is a third tent; it’s possibly the same one as before but now it is set at the back of a beach on an island in Greece.

 

The beach is empty; on one side of the bay there is a small tavern and on the other a simple stone house half hidden by fig trees, between the sand and the mountain behind vegetables grow amongst the reed and wild flowers.

 

Two people are in the tent, certainly the two people from before, are half sleeping; it is early morning and they arrived at this bay as the sun was setting. They had taken the road from the harbour where the bus had stopped, everyone else had left the bus and settled. on the boat.

 

After they had set the tent, they placed their few cooking utensils alongside. A small stream trickled through the reed down to the sea and they washed everything before turned in for the night.

 

Footsteps approaching the tent woke them, they were far from home, young, did not speak the language and were apprehensive. The footsteps seemed loud in the half morning as they circled the tent and then stopped. Inside the tent they tried not to breathe. 

 

Then they heard the rattle of their pots and pans, they were being moved, taken, but they were too scared to react and the footsteps then hurried away.

 

They waited a long time, until their own fears were far enough away and then slowly they opened the flap and looked outside.

 

Their pots and pans were all in place, except now they were full of tomatoes and courgettes.

 

That day they swam in the sea, they met the old lady who lived in the house by the fig trees and they shared her coffee. They met her husband and tried his wine that tasted of fine sweet grapes.

 

And they climbed into the mountain to the distant homes, accessible only by goat tracks where the people celebrated the joy of summers past.