The sun was still low, our shoes were soaked with dew. We shared a breakfast in an wide and empty field, save for a strange little hut. We talked about wandering, and (always) of changing. Who would have though we would be these people?
Evening came with music playing forte. The young Winonans came out at last. We sat and watched, the music and the people, and danced some too. There is something about this place. Everyone once in awhile, the village really comes alive.
listen to Fair Fjola