“‘I was. But not all children are lucky enough to understand trees like you do. And it isn’t every tree that likes to talk.’”
“He gave an affectionate laugh and went on. ‘They weren’t exactly trees, but trellised vines,
and before you ask: trellised vines are what grapes grow on. They’re just thick vines.
It was pretty to see the harvests and the grape-stomping.’”
“‘He explained what that was. He seemed to know a lot. As much as Uncle Edmundo.”
“‘Tell me more.’ ‘You’re enjoying it?’ ‘Very much. I wish I could talk with you non-stop for 852 miles.’”
“‘What about the petrol for all that?’ ‘It’s make-believe petrol.’”
“Then he told me about the grass that turns into hay in winter and about cheese-making.
He says ‘cheese’ differently to us. He changes the music of the words a lot, but I think they sound even more musical.”
“He stopped talking and gave a long sigh. ‘I’d like to go back there very soon.
Perhaps to spend my twilight years in a peaceful, enchanted place.
Folhadela, near Monreal, in my beautiful Trás-os-Montes.’”
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