Sheltered from the Mistral wind, a stop at the cabin

The sky suddenly darkened. Clouds stretched to the right, the dry grass lay flat, and the Mistral wind rose across the plain. In the hollow of the terraces, the watering trough awaited; a little further on, the shepherd's hut raised its blue shutters against the wind. The flock had gathered, and the shepherds in their capes advanced with measured steps. This was the end-of-season rest stop, the one that the dry stone walls and old earthworks have always offered to those who walk with their animals.