" M the slope it here so you can not do much!"
The words rang her on the forehead. "Excuse me ...?" The man was standing next to her obliquely, bursting with morning freshness. Sympathetic person, but frankly. The short sharp hair was gray and barely concealed by a green knitted hat. He gestured generously and let his arm wander far over the hill. She buried her
Hands in his pockets. It was freezing, it was before the morning coffee. She thought of your slope and the plans they had with him. Small Bruchsteinmäuerchen, two, three terraces for the house of herbs, a meandering, gravel crunching. Ground cover roses. Blackberries. Raspberries. And on top a secluded patio overlooking the valley with no view.
The man should now look trim around the apple tree. "Not much to do ...?" We'll see! We will see what happens in the summer.
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