Walking alone at Sunrise in Thissio.

The city was still asleep, and so were its secrets.
I walked through Thissio as the sky slowly lit up, the ruins glowing golden and the streets whispering stories.
There’s a kind of peace that only exists before Athens wakes.

With the Acropolis behind me, I follow the wide pedestrian path that curves gently toward Thissio. The ground is still wet from the street cleaners, and the morning air smells like stone, dust, and something clean. I can hear the first cicadas starting their song — a rhythmic buzz that declares, in its own language: summer has arrived in Greece.

The sun breaks out from behind the hills, casting long shadows across the trees and benches. The light is golden and strong, hitting the ancient stones like a blessing. Everything glows — even the silence.

To my left, the observatory stands quiet on its hill, watching the world in slow motion. I think about the people who look at stars from there, and for a second, I wish I could do the same. But this morning, I’m walking — grounded, alert, carrying my tools instead of a telescope.

I stop for my usual: orange juice and toast — what I call the breakfast of the explorer. Just enough to keep you going without slowing your step.

At the café, I take out my small notebook and read the handwritten list of things to shoot today. The backpack is open, camera ready, and the air is still soft enough to think clearly.

And me? I sit quietly for a moment longer, smiling.

Because this — this is what I always dreamed of.
Thissio has given me the morning I needed.
The city is alive now. And so am I.