There's a valley leading down to a stream which ambles down to a river rushing down to the big wide open sea.

I have followed flat stones skimming, followed dreams and followed women, but there's nothing quite like swimming in the cool and without fear

while the fishes tickle me
I tickle trout and that's my tea with chipped potatoes
homely grown.

The garden needs some managing and like me the vines are ageing with the weight of countless crops and the sunshine drops in almost casually which pleases me no end.

Robins on the rooftop and the peartrees are in bloom, must make room for several bottles of the best homely brewed wine.

Next time I'll bring a backpack for the bric-à-brac of which there's plenty in the ancient market streets,
but in this, the peace and quiet where my mind finds its own balance I am happy living far away from any throng in any city any day.

Don as in Quixote waves a fond farewell to me
and the donkey doesn't seem to care a jot.