Most often, in fact, almost every time when we, father and daughter step into town, we aim our steps towards the park. Any of the available urban parks are our target and, after a preliminary consultation and a decision by mutual agreement, we venture out. Although we have our preferences, we are still trying to change the landscape. Not too often, however, not to short-circuit the relationship with the routine, yet not too rare so to avoid repetitive destinations. In any case, most often we go out in the park, and when our steps don’t take us there, then we hazard through urban places.
In one of these adventures, we got, by chance, near Stavropoleos church, at night. Sara admired the small details of the universe, leaning on them, as they were scattered at her feet. I was with her answering to any possible question, discovering the world through her eyes, accepting the existence of every detail presented by her … “look daddy”.
The nuns of the monastery were carrying on with their work, passing by us, smiling and saying few words. At one point, one of the nuns came with a semantron in her hand. Sara saw the object immediately and went after it.
For a few good minutes, the nun had beaten the semantron around the church, followed by us, discreet, but visible enough. We listened to the sound of the wood being hit by a caring and humble hand, and finally Sara reached out directly to the worn timber, wondering how the sound gets out from there. The nun lingered for a few moments, enough to tell us that in her hand she held a small semantron, and that up there in the tower there is a larger one … and that will make its voice heard in a very short while.
We listened fascinated by the magical sound ritual, with my fairy in my arms. When we left, while departing from the church she whispered, anchoring in her memory the new experience:”- Small semantron, lar’ semantron (large) in ther’ (there) and up … the be’ (bell) …up the towe’ (top tower)”.
I forgot to write down the time when this beautiful ritual begins, yet so appeared a new destination on the map of our travels for the coming days. After several attempts we managed to listen again to the ritual, to follow the Nun discreetly, as she was going around the church, knocking the tiny wooden plank.
Every time we waited for the large semantron followed by the bell and then we went home, hugging each other. Home, were mother was expecting us and of course the “chaaapcie (maternal milk)…good”…
As every time, our adventure was shared with mother and it was relieved with joyful and cheerful sounds by Sara, as she was unraveling yet another tiny part of the ever growing universe around her.