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Description
In amongst the streets of this ruined and ruinous village there were lots of beautiful textures and colours. Stone and wood, grain and flaking paint. Shadow and filtered light.
This doorway stood at the top of a hill, a broken crumbling hill with rubble and rocks strewn all around. There was complete and unbroken silence as the shutter clicked. Then I heard a sound, a scuffling, and turned to see a large goat behind me, picking it's way over the stones and rubble, a rope trailing from it's neck. Very soon I heard a cry, 'Hey, hey' and saw an old man coming down the slope after the goat. He came from buildings that looked as if they hadn't been inhabited for years, and he seemed himself to be a refugee from some forgotten war. He had an old, worn jacket and collarless shirt, unshaven and touseled grey hair. He was limping and found progress over the broken surface difficult. I grabbed the rope and halted the goat's progess until he reached us, then passed it to him. He chattered away to me, although I didn't understand him. Then he rolled up his trouser leg to show me his bandaged and damaged knee, and with gestures told me he had fallen opposite where we stood. God knows how he called for help, or who took him to get medical attention - nor how he managed to pick his way around these streets covered with stones. He was grateful for my stopping the goat, and we waved as we parted. I was left thinking how pampered my life is, and how my expectations of old age do not contain such hardship...

Description
In amongst the streets of this ruined and ruinous village there were lots of beautiful textures and colours. Stone and wood, grain and flaking paint. Shadow and filtered light.
This doorway stood at the top of a hill, a broken crumbling hill with rubble and rocks strewn all around. There was complete and unbroken silence as the shutter clicked. Then I heard a sound, a scuffling, and turned to see a large goat behind me, picking it's way over the stones and rubble, a rope trailing from it's neck. Very soon I heard a cry, 'Hey, hey' and saw an old man coming down the slope after the goat. He came from buildings that looked as if they hadn't been inhabited for years, and he seemed himself to be a refugee from some forgotten war. He had an old, worn jacket and collarless shirt, unshaven and touseled grey hair. He was limping and found progress over the broken surface difficult. I grabbed the rope and halted the goat's progess until he reached us, then passed it to him. He chattered away to me, although I didn't understand him. Then he rolled up his trouser leg to show me his bandaged and damaged knee, and with gestures told me he had fallen opposite where we stood. God knows how he called for help, or who took him to get medical attention - nor how he managed to pick his way around these streets covered with stones. He was grateful for my stopping the goat, and we waved as we parted. I was left thinking how pampered my life is, and how my expectations of old age do not contain such hardship...