You may have heard through the grapevine (my stories) that in my spare time, which is most of time, I have taken to hiking up the nearby Muntanya de l’Or, and beyond it to the weather station, like some sort of certified sociopath. Further attesting my sociopath theory is that I am thoroughly enjoying it???? The last time I made it up, just beyond the pictured station, I bumper into a father and son who I assumed were out doing the same thing as me, and since they were two they were perfectly normal people and not, as I am, sociopaths. The father had a splendid bouquet of agapanthus, knapweed, and heaps upon heaps of lavender, and he seemed to be explaining to his son in earnest, as he picked more flowers for the bouquet, which ones wouldn’t be a cause for itchy affliction. It is beyond me to fight the irresistible pull of granting fictional backstories to complete strangers, so I imagined they had hiked up and spontaneously decided to bring the mother some flowers, as she prepared dinner at home for their family. It was a charming, übernaive fantasy. Maybe the flowers for a daughter. For another father? Maybe they are alone and the flowers are for their twosome. Were they really father and son? How could I be certain? Did the child flick me a pained look as if asking for help? Should I have made conversation to make sure it was all very above-board? Would that have helped? Wouldn’t a practiced predator manipulate me seven ways to Sunday anyway? Is anything within my power? (at Cullera) https://www.instagram.com/p/ByQvfA_i8QJ/?igshid=wgi9kzaqhdes
