We (me, son and dogs) had driven up into the nearby mountains/very large hills to escape, for a while, the incredible heat suffocating our town - not complaining! I love the summer, and it is a REAL one this year, but dog walking has become a pathetic amble down the road, well after the sun has disappeared for the day.
So, into the hills we went and walked along ferny lanes that smelt of boxwood and moss rather than the boiled marjoram and tired lavender of our parched garden and lane. On arriving back to the car I decided on a 'me' voyage back, that is to say, let's just continue along this road and see what happens, with no map and no GBH/RSJ/GPL or whatever it is.
After some way the road was barricaded by an open gate and a car. Just as I was contemplating a small track off to the right which would have ended up in some rubbly field, a man appeared and asked if we could wait five minutes as a 'troupe' of 'Brebis' (sheep) were about to be led into another pasture area.
I nodded, got out with camera while the dogs howled in the car, and watched a memorable scene of the young woman herder rattling a plastic bucket, striding ahead of the emerging pack, her cry of "Yeep, yeep" filling the dusty air while the man clapped his hands in manner of a slightly underdressed flamenco dancer.
I don't know why or how the brain makes and stores memories but I'm sure the smells, sounds and sight of that moment will be stored.
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