We were innocently making our way back from the proper village of Cómpeta to our little villa located on the outskirts of town. The wee journey had been rather uneventful so far, if you put aside the always-inherent danger of traveling the merest trace of a country road, one that tightly hugs the perilous twists and turns of a questionable thoroughfare which has been etched into the side of a mountain. (One false move and we might extemporaneously end up creating a tribute to the final moments of Princess Grace, accompanied by much surprise, impromptu pageantry, and a considerable amount of screaming.)
Suddenly, we had company.
We’d seen these gals many times during our visits to the villa, traipsing past our abode early in the day and then returning later in the afternoon. We’d just never gotten this up close and personal. And in an interesting, Bonnywood Manor twist, the song playing on the car radio is one that I just quoted a few days ago in a post. Life moves in mysterious, interconnected ways. (By the way, the soundtrack also includes a smidge of salty observational language, so brace yourselves accordingly. You also might want to turn up the volume a bit for the full effect.)