We were living in a windmill, wife, lads and I had a bed on an extended broad millstone that turned slowly while we lounged there. A few brass porthole windows in the room eased by slowly when the weather hit the sails on the side of our house. There were dark wood walls and a single door had banded metal across its frame though the majority of the building seemed to be made of rough hewn white and gray stone.

The outside was more grassy plains with some distant trees and a yellow- brown dirt road that went off to the horizon. The wind was visible on the grass, making whorls and changing the color and texture of the shapes blown in various spots across the field. Clear skies.