Rough bony dry rocky soil. Steep hillsides with paths and ridges where the cattle and sheep graze. They run level and slantwise up and down the side of the hill. There are sheep droppings and cow flaps scattered.
Small pines blow and bend in the brisk north wind.
I'm glad I have my windbreaker jacket on. Red roofs and a jumble of walls tight against each other. I hear churchbells ringing. The road to the ancient farm where all my ancestors worked is out of sight far down below me behind the trees and brush. Sheep graze down in the fields on the hillsides leading to the village.