The sea is milk blue tonight. A storm is moving in. But for the moment, the air is perfectly still and it is perfectly quiet. Even the birds, who have been so joyous lately, are silent so that the only sound at all is, very faintly, the shushing sound of the sea breaking on the coast. Every night now, in these fading days of winter, the sunset bleeds into the sky and the sea and breaks our hearts and I think to myself, "Never! Never has there been a more beautiful sunset!" And every night it's the same, but different. And Jonathan and I call out to each other, "Look at the sky! Look at the sky!"

The mountainside here is covered in blooming flowers. Not to be outdone, the wet books in our house from the flood in the cantina have also opened like blossoms in the spring.