A lonely figure sits under the broad umbrella of an encina tree escaping the stifling Andalusian sun while gently strumming his small guitar as his dogs maintain control of the slowly grazing flock in their charge.

They all repeat this chorography day after day looking forward to the evening ritual of recovering the rich bounty the flock transformed from the organic carpet of the Earth to the so-prized silky liquid.

Then at the hands of an alchemist in a small wooden building on the edge of his pasture, using magic learned through the ages, a wonderful culinary delight is created.

Is this how it really happens, or are these the musings of a hopeless romantic?

In any event, no matter how it happens, the satisfaction of the palate is all that matters in the end.

Ken Kaiyala
9-24-19