On my walk with Rusty before I take him home to his owner, I stopped to chat to a fellow walker I had said hallo to a few days before. We both admired the weather and I told him of the field he could walk in when the one we were in had sheep in it. He pointed out where I could walk and from which I could see about sixty miles in all directions. I learned he was a postman and he told me what his son did and we talked about the news in a town we both knew well. Then i had to get on and we told each other our first names and said goodbye.
Being rooted in a community is a hundred such exchanges, sharing moment and minutes of a day well spent and enjoying that someone else in the world at the same times, sees and enjoys the same moments.
Praeterea, puto arma nuclearia Persiae delenda esse