It was a clear day. The first clear day in the valley in
some time. In spite of the early hour the valley's animals
were awake and restless.

  If a man stood high on a peak of one of the mountains,
looking, in the clear morning air, down, on the village,
perhaps he would see a young boy, a shepherd, that came out
of one of the houses that stood in the remote end of the
village. The boy who ran barefooted on the loosen paving
stones, swiftly passing the houses facades along the main
street, the only street, in the village.

  If a man stood high on a peak of one of the mountains,
looking down, on the village, perhaps he would hear the cock
crow against the rising sun that painted the eastern sky
with red and orange. The cock which stood on one of the
close farm houses roofs, those who stood right beneath the
mountain.

  If a man stood high on a peak of one of the mountains,
looking down, on the village, perhaps he would see the
village's baker blows life and fire in his large oven and
waving his hand to the young boy, the shepherd, that crossed
the center of the village, carrying his large wooden water
bucket, making a vain effort not to spill its content on his
bare feet.

If a man stood high on a peak of one of the mountains,
looking down on the village, perhaps he would see that the
boy's work seemed harder than ever, the ordinary obedient
cattle were restless and disordered. The man would then
notice the peculiar behavior of all the valley animals, like
that red tail fox who suddenly came out of its lair, just
beneath the man's legs, and smelled the morning air. The fox
which than turned his back to the valley and ran.

  Maybe then the man would sense the unusual thin scent
which was already in the morning air, the faint warm breeze,
abnormal to a first clear day at the end of the winter. He
would turn around than, to look at the mountain peak and
behold the lean coils of white-gray smoke that climbed
upward from its mouth, almost invisible against the rising
sun. the man would understand, he would know. He would rush
down the slope, stumbling over a sand mound that used to be
the lair of a red tail fox. He will reach, breath taken, to
the center of the village, near the baker's shop and cry out
the warning. In a few moments the baker would rush out of
the forming crowd and ran toward the village council head's
house. The head of the council would come down in his
nightgown and the baker would quickly explain the situation.
The village people would then, efficiently, arrange their
most important articles on the few wagons that were in the
village and depart north, on the wide soil road. Leaving
their home village, the only home they have ever known,
alive. The young boy, the shepherd, sitting on the baker
black horse, would lead his flock to safety. A few hours
later when all the people have already left, the man would
turn, from a high mountain peak and look down on the village
for the last time.

  But there was no man, standing high on the peak a of one
of the mountains, watching down on the village, on that
clear day. The first clear day in the valley in some time.