21h30 Jogging down the lane sheep grumbled at me for the destruction of their tranquillity. I take no heed. Up the hill, I stop, not only to draw breath, (we had been eating our evening meal since apx 19h and talking .... delightful) but also to participate in Nature. The view across 'Les Paradise des Chevres' has most probably not altered much in aeons, excepting that perhaps I see the skeletons of other trees than people did in days gone by, and sheep, not goats, flood in a single line from the upper field down to this lower field, following their leader, emitting vocalised calls at different pitches from different animals. It is an idyll. It is as if magic has blessed the land. I marvel. Refraction of light from a setting sun bathes the stone walls, the dead trees, the leafed trees and shrubs, the dried scrubbed grassy fields, and the creamy coloured sheep into a harmonious golden bronzed painting. No camera or painter could capture such subtle romanticism.