Up at the castle, I clambered over thick granite, catching my jeans on the thickets and sharp edged plants. At the top of a cliff face I peered over and caught sight of a woman putting out her washing. I took a few shots before she scurried inside. I checked the photos on the back of the camera, blurred and unusable. Bugger. Wrong settings.
I took another couple of photos. While the scene lacked the woman, the jumble of farm house and out buildings, the tractor and other machinery and the piles of wood along the track way held something, especially being surrounded by the neat, ordered rows of vines. I wonder if the vines belong to the farm?