Endings are bittersweet. Looking at the sky, my head on my backpack on the grass, people around me. I did not feel well and thought, "I can't die in this foreign land, among strangers." Twenty five years is a long time, filled with the good and the bad. I am listening to Luis de Milán's "Fantasía número 3". The vihuela is such an old intimate Spanish instrument. My heart left years ago, my body is just following.