The sun has yet to dip below the mountains when I grip the steering wheel with two hands and watch Shirley cross the street and enter her house. As I pull away from the kerb silvery bands of light stream through low cloud clinging to the peaks of the massif, dazzling me through my sunglasses. Minutes later I come to a crunching stop on my parent"s gravel drive and release my seatbelt, pausing before I open the door for my heartbeat to slow to normal.
I force my mind on the present, on my shoes crunching on the picón, the stillness of the air now the wind has dropped. The silence wraps around me, intense, timeless, benevolent.
I survey the surroundings, taking in the rise and fall of the massif, the bumps, creases and folds. This valley with its barren rim of mountains and hills cradling
