The child’s finger that secretly lowers the level of the jar with Chios mastic.

The snow-white carriage that just wouldn’t arrive, because the craftsmen kept coming up with new parts.

The first suit that got the family into trouble.

The winter cinema that fed our dreams.

The unparalleled devotion of our four-legged friends.

The encounter with the dreamlike world of the book.

The swings of youth that hung in the pines of the monastery of the Life-Giving Spring.

The Margarita, with flowers in her blonde hair, a true angel in gymnastics exhibitions.

The Eugenia, who illuminated the refugee houses when she transformed from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan.

Ioannis, who studied the formations of stars until dawn.

The outdoor photographer, who magically developed our photos on the spot.

The country kids who studied with countless deprivations and later came to teach us letters.

The introduction to the magical world of poetry.

The gypsy woman with the mementos and the hard-to-interpret prophecies.

The special national anthem of the couple from Drapetsona.

The Spilianis, who were raised by fairies inside a cave.

The Stratos, who closed the circle of his life inside a container.

The Albanian builder who became a teacher for one night.

The nobility of the unknown elder who invited us to his humble table.

The persistent nostalgia for the homelands across the way, where our own lived and excelled.

All these are the small pebbles that life itself provided us to form the mosaic of this book.