By the time we reached the turning point down into the valley, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon.
All was peaceful, and we could once again savor the silence.
They were all bursting with juicy red sabras, ready for picking.
Off the side of the pathway, we found a flat spot on a carpet of oak leaves, surrounded by twisted bark and covered by a leaf ceiling.
My home turf in the mountains of Gush Etzion is filled with all kinds of beauty.