In the winter spring we had hope as dry as the earth. May, both wet, and here's the time to start weeds. Although we look at time more than once throughout the day, it is not enough and the radio must be turned on. The mystery of the execution of plans is hidden in the fog of the hypothetical condition imposed by the sky. Time is the only power.

Time fills us with the calendar, and above that little, perhaps some emergency. Because we have a lot at stake. Everything. The very existence of the herd. If there is no grass, what will sheep eat in winter? Of course there is always a purchase option. At what price? And the quality of the grass?

History has taught us that the dwelling should be as autonomous as possible to maintain itself. This law is still very present in these Parishes.

Message from Nafarroa Garaia a few weeks ago: drought and lack of food for next year for all organic farmers in Gipuzkoa. So this year’s grass is more important than ever.

The next campaign may have to go without cereals. How will sheep resist without the energy and strength of the grain mixture? Perhaps we will have to think that instead of buying small farmers from the Basque Country or from the neighbouring territories, we will have to bring grain away? Under what conditions? What about the price?

Too many questions for mapping life. Only in the current sky can you read the map next year. However, I have a concern.

A friend says that, unlike what's happening now, the messages written in the old clouds were clear and hopeful -- cyclical. Now, over time, and therefore with nature, whatever the improvisation, not as the bertsolaris, but the improvisation improvised and defunct. No rhythm, no rhyme.

Bertsolaris, with certain techniques and rhythms, draw maps with words. There are no straight lines. Because the verse therefore requires roundness.

I would like the sky to be made in verse, in circle, so that we do it in herbs.