I was somewhere in a European style Tundra. Perhaps the Scottish Highlands (Cairngorms?), or Iceland. In a valley, surrounded by mountains. Old stone houses were scattered about. I walked up to one. I believe it was newly mine. I absorbed the fresh air, let the environment, and history envelop me.
Some men, tough, military type men, were laying carpet in the house. The lead man saw a cigarette butt in the floor. He picked it up in disgust, and said, “We will get nowhere if this keeps up”.
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