Alba

Climbing in the mist I came to a terrace wall and saw above it a small field of broad beans in flower their white fragrance was flowing through the first light of morning there a little way up the mountain where I had made my way through the olive groves and under the blossoming boughs of the almonds above the old hut of the charcoal burner where suddenly the scent of the bean flowers found me and as I took the next step I heard the creak of the harness and the mule’s shod hooves striking stones in the furrow and then the low voice of the man talking softly praising the mule as he walked behind through the cloud in his white shirt along the row and between his own words he was singing under his breath a few phrases at a time of the same song singing it to his mule it seemed as I listened watching their breaths and not understanding a word