It was good to feel the weight of the water being diplaced by my oar. The canoe glided gently accross the surface of the bay, sensible to my every movement, twitch or manoeuvre .
Low cobbled home, locked in the hills’ curve. Hustled houses in the mellow night, sitting atop the mound. The cold homesteads’ people crowd around their fiery hearths.
Rippling stream crossing the valley green, Curling, swiveling and dribbling To and through the grass so lean. Thriven fields immersed in golden sun, Radiating, shinning and flourishing