
When Pablo stood up again, he looked down to the valley below. The sand on his shoulders and arms blew off in the light breeze. The valley stretched quietly out below a wide basin of colour and sharrow.
From where he stood he could see the deep reds, soft yellows and hints of blue and green. As if somehow someone had sprinkled wildflowers magically across the valley floor. As if the earth had somehow helped to paint its own little secret.
The wind travelled up from the ocean, not harsh and not strong, just enough to move the air as the grass swayed back the other way in a long gentle hush. Somehow somewhere below the valley seemed to be alive in its own quiet kind of way. He noticed a very narrow track winding down slowly towards the colours almost near the cliff.
He decided to wander down towards the colours and wondered where it would lead. He made his way down gently, not with any urgency, just curiously. The great sweep of the hill falling behind him and the long grass still moving softly.
The valley was asking him to join it in some way. Then he stopped for a long moment and just stood there. He took a breath.
He looked out once more into the valley below.
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