Читать книгу Closer to God - John Moehl - Страница 6

The scent of eucalyptus and cypress mix with wood smoke to perfume the morning air.

Long-handled hoes slung lightly over sinewy shoulders, men and women deftly head for steep, rocky fields.

The lilting song of school children echoes off the hills—carried on the breeze with the harsh caw of a peevish pied crow.

Down the palisade’s path, four stout youth, carrying an ailing veteran on a papyrus stretcher, add their chants to the morning melody to lighten their load.

The fertile valleys, crops of cabbage and beans peering from the rich soil, are still cloaked in the mist, seemingly rising from the morning dew.

Long-horned cattle, with their sheep stewards, head down pitched trails, leaving their corrals for morning pasture under the watchful eye of a family son.

The fresh air seems to vibrate, as if in anticipation of a momentous event—in the mountains, valleys, and perpetual spring, the day begins.