The day I ate five oranges: Feb 10

Rachel and I rode the bus (we are getting really good at riding busses) to Arcos, a cute little white pueblo with some history and some artisans. We sat in the plaza on top of the hill, next to the castle and the cathedral, neither of which we could go in. But that was okay because the blue sky and wispy white clouds that God suspended over the hills and the valleys and the orange groves was better than any architecture that gold could buy or decorate. We talked with a Dutch guy who travels all over Europe taking pictures for travel literature, and he said that my counting to twelef wasn't bad. After attending mass at another hilltop church, we bought a kilo (or was it two kilos?) of oranges and headed down into the valley. Once we got there, we realized that the dirt cheap oranges we had bought at the top weren't as good of a deal as the thought, only because the ones at the grove are even cheaper, and a little fresher too. Oranges are delicious here, and they are in season now. I ate four of them that day, one at each bench we stopped to gaze from. At supper that night, I sat down to find an orange on my dessert plate. It was yummy.