Quixotic Lessons

The Spanish countryside is expansive and stunning. On my bus from Seville to Granada, the landscape stretched out either side of me, with huge groves of short olive trees dotting the scene. They looked like an army of jolly green midgets, marching lock-root over the rolling hills towards the pack of huge modern windmills in the blue-sky distance. Mindful of Don Quixote debacle, I think they should just leave well enough alone. If literary history teaches us nothing else, it teaches us this: nothing good can come from messing with a windmill.