Hitchhiking through the Atlas mountains in Morocco, I passed over into the valleys of the south. Orange and rocky at the top, rich and lush green in the valley. A decaying village of mud buildings stood on a hill in the middle of the valley, I asked to be let out and went to draw it, then went to look for a place to sleep.

On my way back north through Spain, I was dropped off close to some tiny village next to a hill. I climbed the hill to pitch my tent, it was covered in Thyme. I spent three days there. In the village, I found an abandoned mill of some kind, the old wood of the mechanism still not decayed.