Tapestry of Fear
“Romero at the wheel. Out through the gates, onto the unmade road, past the cottages, and down towards the village.
It was a lovely morning. As we neared the village we passed pleasant farmhouses with low red roofs and white plastered walls, cascades of honeysuckle and clematis clinging around the doors. The surrounding fields and meadows rolled undulating away to merge into forested slopes of pines and here and there turbulent streams swept down, rushing beneath stone bridges only just wide... enough for our car to go over. The cornfields reached right up to the edge of the village houses, shifting like a golden sea in the light breeze. The road curled down, exchanging beaten earth for bumpy cobbles as it wound through the centre of the village. Here, the road ran straighter, between bakers and butchers, wine bars and tanneries. A tiny church, the plaster saint outside it garlanded by flowers, had a slender golden spire soaring up against the sun-filled sky.
The street was filled with shopping women, wicker baskets over their arms as they queued for fresh vegetables or stood in groups laughing and talking, stepping out of our way as we crawled along the crowded street at a snail’s pace.MoreLess
It was a lovely morning. As we neared the village we passed pleasant farmhouses with low red roofs and white plastered walls, cascades of honeysuckle and clematis clinging around the doors. The surrounding fields and meadows rolled undulating away to merge into forested slopes of pines and here and there turbulent streams swept down, rushing beneath stone bridges only just wide... enough for our car to go over. The cornfields reached right up to the edge of the village houses, shifting like a golden sea in the light breeze. The road curled down, exchanging beaten earth for bumpy cobbles as it wound through the centre of the village. Here, the road ran straighter, between bakers and butchers, wine bars and tanneries. A tiny church, the plaster saint outside it garlanded by flowers, had a slender golden spire soaring up against the sun-filled sky.
The street was filled with shopping women, wicker baskets over their arms as they queued for fresh vegetables or stood in groups laughing and talking, stepping out of our way as we crawled along the crowded street at a snail’s pace.MoreLess
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