"Morning service in Exarchia and people come from far and wide, from Nafplio, Patras, the girl from Kynouria, the doctor from Livadia, together with my friend Christos Polyzois, and Zois his son, the children from Porto Rafti, all the children, Annezoula and Sophia and Ioannikios, Dimitroula, the people from Ano Petralona, ​​George, the chosen Cosmas, with his engine, he is leading, a fragrance envelops us as we worship the a relic of the saint that smells, his sanctified hand, in the reliquary. All around the saints are watching us, and that skylight and the soft light. This is our Church through the ages.

This is how a litany of angels descends from high heaven, they also take the road with us, we all go down the steps of the Exarchiae together, with the pine trees and the chirping birds, the little bird that was chirping all the time in the skylight, we go down receiving the blessing of the Elder who crosses us with his little hand, sees us all lovingly, tenderly. Hot. Crowds of believers to bow their heads, to receive his blessing on the steps and then to withdraw, to get lost in the narrow streets, the city is just about to wake up, the first buses start to roar as they climb Harilaou Trikoupi, I look at the names of the surrounding streets, Isauron and Smolensky, and later Ioannou Vatatzis. This is how we go down the stairs to Exarchia, after that secret morning service, going to our homes".

The prose entitled Morning Liturgy refers to a world that shines and flourishes. It is the world of a memory that follows us, that accompanies us persistently. A multitude of people we loved, who are always with us even if they left for another place, years ago. It is the world of Cyprus, our old neighborhood, but also the world of Athens, the amphitheater, the Exarchia, the Elders and the saints. Our friends from the old days.