7
Several peaceful days passed for Helen. She would sit in her favourite place, on the main balcony with her feet up on the rungs of another chair, notebook and biro unused on the table. It was so easy to drift off into a dream here, and not usually one which inspired her to write or draw. She had fallen into a habit of quiet observation.
She would watch the man who strode across the uneven ground mid-morning to fetch his mule from the field and take it away for the day’s work. She often saw in the distance a shepherd and his dogs as they walked from a house to the high sheep fields, sometimes disappearing from sight when the path wound behind buildings or stumpy trees. Yellow broom was starting to flower in the valley, and in the long grass were thistles, sprawling figs, untended olive
