Sunday

28th August 2016

Up at seven, wash.

Think at the black bag with the notebook inside. It is in the

car.

So dress in yesterdays clothing and leave the house,

forgetting to take the key out. The door falls to, and

is locked.

Oh well, no key for the flat. go to the car, there is a

rushing sound of water. A stream is now flowing down

the hill, where there had been no stream yesterday. A

diversion in some irrigation system?

The black bag is in the car, where it had been left, and

the notebook and the pen are inside. Take the black bag, and

walk back up the hill. On the way, take a side path along

a small road between two stone walls. After a very

short walk, come out on the hill upon which the farmers

had been working for the past week. There are immaculately

hept fields of grapevine here, plantations, all owned

separately, all separated by fences.  All the grass between the plots has been Trimmed.

The path goes on up the hill, past tiny huts in the fields.

It is a beautiful place.

The sun is up now, but it has got much colder. The

top of the hill is pleasant, but return now. Even thought it

is a public place, a public path, the whole nature of

the place is private, there is no sense in attracting

attention here.

Return to the locked door at the holiday accomodation,

and sit on the stoop with a large ginger cat. she wants

to get into the house too. Pat her head, she purrs.

Both wait, and then the cat gets up and walks away.

A man rolls down the steep cobbled streets in a

tiny three-wheeled vehicle which barely fits into the

street. It is a strange construction with a small cabin

on the front and a platform for carrying heads on the

boy. It has a tony two state engine, and is than steered

by handlebars, just like a motor scooter.

Another man comes roaring up the hill in another

one of these tiny vehicles, just wthe size for the minute

streets. Years ago, the people may have used donkeys

and carts, now they speed around inn these three

wheeled vehicles.

The village is now waking up, it is half past eight.

The cat has returned, it really wants to go into the hours.

It sits and purrs, a marmalade coloured large

cat, with a mmged tail and a chip out of mean,

And in one of the houses canaries are twitter.mg to each

other. A constant sound.

The cat goes away to patiently wait at#he another

door, in the hope that it will he let in there.