And the smells. In the morning, just when the sun is rising. The night leaving the dry shrubland soil. Something warm and soft, welcoming.
Or when the sun is setting, the rich smell of the depressions. Wild herbs, something not quite like thyme, and sometimes the edge of a distant fire.
I might be a geographer, basing my professional expertise on my eyes. But my feelings are ruled by my nose.
Katja Malmborg 