Walking past bee boxes, entering a silent, magical, room

By late afternoon, the sky over Karabortlen was a flawless blue - delicate clouds moved very slowly through the shining air -

We decided to go for a walk in the valley - Ken and Phil had to stay behind - they were up to some devilry with Ken's PC -

Jane and Lorraine were ahead of me, keeping an eye on the two dogs - I shut the wrought iron gates to the garden - I imagined myself clasping a flaming sword -

I had never seen the valley so beautiful, so full of colour and light - there were banks of brilliant white daisies,  sad crowds of poppies, with their dark red, sexy, petals - pine woods flowed over the hills and mountains - orange trees were in delicious blossom -

I saw fields, brimful of glowing yellow flowers - the stream beds were still full of clear icy water - the trees shone with bright new leaves - goats with silky coats nibbled at tufts of grass - when the goats moved on, bells tinkled at their throats - gentle cows grazed in the shade of an oak tree -

We passed by long lines of blue bee boxes - you could see, and hear, the purposeful bees, humming and circling and flying to and fro -

We followed Hammy's example, quietly and stealthily slipping past the bee boxes - we saw a young nervous horse in a field -

Jane and Lorraine gossiped and laughed - I dawdled behind - we made our way through an olive grove - I felt as though we were entering a silent, magical, room - the silvery green leaves rustled, very slightly, in a warm, scented, breeze -