If You Miss the Sign for Davlia

IfYou Miss the Sign for Davlia Ifyou miss the sign for Davlia while on the train to Delphi be prepared for something other than the cool white ruins, the long view from the mountaintop, and the exhalations ofthe oracle: for the next stop isn't on the map, and you must get back from there. On the flat road back there is no one else save the woman in black with a rooster beneath her arm. The hills lump up morosely. The heat rubs its side against your face. You decide instead to stop in the taverna where you are the first customer in years. The proprietor speaks only Greek, but the wine tastes like evergreen, the liquor like Christmas candy or fresh plums. Downing this you forget the high flanks ofParnassus and the olive-bordered shrine ofthe long-silent god. And when the tavern-keeper's daughter enters the dusty room, speaks her message, and leaves, you want to know what she has said. You want to touch your finger to her eyebrow and learn the wedding vow ofthe orthodox, your Blue Guide crumpled in the corner. 231 You want to stay here, your dark-eyed children on your knee, telling them stories, saying the words you could not read in Davlia, the milky-colored liquor on your breath. David Faldet Luther College 232 ...