It isn't even noon as I write this; I
returned from my excursion in time for breakfast. The day is just
beginning for most people, but I already feel like most of one has
elapsed.
At six in the morning, I met my guide
and my ride. It looked like I was being offered a choice of mules,
but when I tried to go with the pretty black one I was strongly
advised toward the other. For probably the only time that day, I
swung myself up in the saddle with little assistance. I was headed
for Asheton Mariam, the church of St. Mary, which is nestled up a
mountain.
