Greek Breakfast

My father used to reminisce of long-ago breakfasts in Greece; of early morning mountain smells and sounds of tinkling from the kitchen, as the large sun appeared from behind the Aegean. Gesturing with his hands, he would go through the motions of the little widow taking the strained yoghurt from the cloth to the plate and rubbing the fennel seeds and dried herbs over the top with arthritic fingers. Dark herby honey was trailed over the yoghurt with a ripe peach and small jet-black, silty co