On Weekends, I Want to See the Sky

  

The weekend often feels like a refuge after a week, no matter how busy it has been. On weekends, I want to see the sky.

Hello, my friends from all corners of the world. Another Saturday has arrived. If you ever find yourself in my city, Serres, in Central Macedonia, you will see people filling the streets of the market district shortly after 11:30 in the morning. 

Some are doing a little shopping, if they can afford it, while others walk around with a coffee in hand. The cafés are always full, as are the shops selling bougatsa* (you really should try it if you ever get the chance).

You will see people gathered in the town square, couples walking together, young children riding bicycles, kicking footballs, playing with pigeons. Mothers stand in groups chatting, while fathers discuss their favourite football team or how exhausted they feel at the mere thought of having to go to the supermarket. 

For me, weekends have also become connected with the sky. Whether there are clouds or not, whether it is raining or not, on weekends I want to see the sky. I want to tear down the walls of the house and let my gaze disappear into the infinite. And we humans forget to look up.

The natural posture of a tired body is bent, closed in on itself, making us look down. 

But there is peace in the sky. It is no coincidence that we look upward when we pray. Or at least, that is what I like to believe. Greatness is found above. Cars pass beside me, horns sound in the distance. Two men are arguing because someone parked in a place that is blocking traffic. 

A mother scolds her child for not holding her hand while crossing the street. A little farther away, a young woman is telling her friends that she has started a relationship with a man and is going to visit him at work. Her friends do not seem particularly happy about it.  

And somewhere in the middle of all this, little Nikolas takes my hand and says, "Daddy, ball!" Then he hands it to his mother. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and points up at the sky where the birds are flying. Do you think little Nikolas understands the greatness of the sky?

 *Bougatsa (pronounced boo-GAH-tsah) is a traditional and highly beloved Greek pastry that perfectly balances textures and flavors. It consists of multiple layers of crispy, golden, and buttered phyllo (paper-thin unleavened dough) wrapped around a rich filling. 

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— Mary & Chris