Ruined beauties . . .

A few more photos from our daily walk to the village. Above and below, the ruins of a house built in the 18th century.

And here’s a reminder that I shouldn’t romanticize too much. I do like my washing machine!

Admittedly, I haven’t seen anyone actually scrubbing at this washtub, but look at the drying line strung above, and you might agree that it all looks part of a still-used laundry operation . . . More ruins. . . I could happily photograph the beautiful stone here all day long, watching how it changes with the light . . .

Tonight on our stroll, we heard fado music being played at the square in the village, and the smell of the sardines being grilled mixed with the smell of the mint that the sheep were crushing as they fed, their bells challenging the fado harmonies. . . . Now the skies are darkening around me as I sit outside at my netbook — the walls are far too thick in our stone building for the wireless to work, so I have to keep the cicadas company. . . Time to go in, I think . . . pictures soon of today’s visit to a mountaintop terrace where we lunched . . .