A community of houses was born to those hills in centuries passed, into them was woven the alleyways, the passages through which their emotions flowed, in which bonds of love were welded.
The alleyway of softly reflecting sunbeams is forever in the golden hour, be it dawn, noon or evening light.
In the alleyway I can stretch my arms and touch the homes on both sides, these walls build so very long ago. They are not the straight perfection of the modern buildings in the newer areas, but each curve and flaw renders them more beautiful still.
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