In search of spring

We drove into the mountains in search of spring. The skies were gray, that was a good sign. We didn't know where we were going. We ended up in a little village, completely deserted at siesta time. We parked the car across from an abandoned farm house; our curious feet decided to explore. It must have been a handsome home at one point; some obstinate blue paint still clung to the walls, attempting to maintain its dignity. The only remnants left behind were a decaying briefcase filled with tiles, a lonely shoe consumed by ashes and a shiny new red tractor. Feeling like trespassers, in this tiny hidden town, we quietly picked our way up a hill towards the mouth of a cave. As we scuttled our way through the rocks, I can across a wild flower in bloom.
The cave was small, no more than a cubby hole really, but if offered us refuge. The dirt and musty sent had a calming effect on my whirling mind. Outside the wind was picking up, signaling the start of the late afternoon and limited daylight; there was still more to explore. One path lead up and the other down. A teatherd donkey skeptically watched us make our way up the next hill. Suddenly, like an alarm clock going off in the village, the ice cream truck announced the end of siesta.