The cobble stone streets are quiet. The inhabitants of these homes are long gone, most of them buried in a small cemetery that sits on the main street leading into the town. When we were children this quaint village bustled with life. Farmers tended their flocks, the olive groves flourished, the fields were filled with sweet tomatoes, figs and so much more. 
But time has no friends. It takes those we love, it replaces one life with another. But it can never take our memories; those sweet stories that fill our hearts with the warmth of yesterday.
As I meandered down the street with my daughter, mother, sister and nieces, I could hear the voices of days gone by and the tinging of my grandfather's tools as he fashioned a new pair of shoes for a fellow villager.
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