And numerous bites of stravecchio. Just a moment or two to let the lactate burn off from the muscles in my legs. And a moment or two to enjoy the stravecchio. We stared at it, it at us. Then something registered in its mind and it bolted into the underbrush, to stop again about 15m away and eye us warily.
Life is good when one can encounter life.
And eat stravecchio. The breeze was still cool so as it whisked its way merrily across the winter-dried trees, I could almost hear the music of the Pann Flutes played by that fickle little fellow himself, just for me. As was the stravecchio. Just for me. The grass was dry and crispy, the straveccho fresh.