Multiplying Ratio: Part 7. The nature surrounding us at Desulo, Sardinia

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The eighth day
In the morning the sun behind me dawn filtering through a slight haze, the backlight produces a sensation of loving comfort to the success of the new day. I think that's why I never found myself praying, contact with the Supreme Self and 'constant on these occasions, and' the essence of the omnipotent, omnipresent and not 'figure or face, but is essence breathe.
Gradually my original background was becoming more 'light, my bags always seemed to make more' room for the new eternally old.
The path to the place of pastors, it was quite tiring.
There 'at the top I found no comfort but only suspicion, and affected indifference. The houses all around the walls were ornamented with splendid murals, glorifying the history and melancholy. Young people spend their time running up and down 'for the highway at top speed', reminded me of those dogs tied to the chain, continues to run back and forth to their limits.
The wolves if put in the cage do the same thing.
An old dressed bearded at the foot of this majestic velvet, complete with a vest under that heat, I'll let 'through his few words, the essence of the topos.
The road took me to a place never seen, the chestnut trees in bloom I did not know. At the top left the road and imbracciai my dear companion, and accompany us along a steep path shaded.
I met them the thrill of wine offered by a merry company, stumbled when we parted, but not enough that they can not meet that sun all day was my friend.
I rested my tired leaning on a tree overlooking the valley. From there many pastors accompany their flocks, could see their desire to leave.
I was left with the desire to leave a message to the neighbor who would sit in the place that I now felt.
Night came to bring that much desired comfort.
Dreams followed one another without rest, I was surrounded by that night, but failed to see helpless, my position on top of them allowed me to be able to forward it became clear in that forest, the trunks were hanging from bulls with the heads of both symmetrical horns.
Above this peak which became downstairs I saw a cottage, where a small bergera was doing on the water in his bucket.
I wanted to catch his eye, but I was now impossible, as in the story of Cinderella at a certain time it would all be gone, and would return what was.