A road always goes somewhere. It travels from farm to village, from village to market town, and on to city. A market town is always about twenty kilometers from its neighbouring town. This means, no one is more than ten away from their nearest, and enables one to walk to market, and home again in a single day. Once upon a time, it was a neccessary convenience.
In between these roads are farmland, and vineyard. During the days of June, I follow such roads, and I see that the vine is vigorous, clasping to anything so that it can climb toward the sun, and that the young grape is formed.