Walk from Santo Domingo to Espinosa Del Camino. Nearly the whole way pain free (relative to the last week). Maybe gained km on the schedule, but that did not seem the point.

Listening to a man say, “I got a new blister today. I left my pole this morning after a mile; I had to walk a mile back.”

I have two toe nails now threatening to leave me, holding their little breath as they turn purple.

picture upon request

Staying with a retired executive from a Korean shipyard, and ~8 others. Small Aubergue, remote.

Thoughts

Talking with a Pilgrim who has seemed to overcome her past. She seems convicted that we all need to do so. She challenged me in her way, that I carry too many stories. Too many talismans.

I do carry talismans. I do carry stories. Maybe more than a troubadour; maybe more than I need. How much are these the embroidery wrapped around my song? Are they part of my song?

Then we walked over a hill, and I saw a small tower of hay bales. I remember moving hay in the vet clinic; hunting mice in barns of hay at neighbors. I remember splitting flakes to feed the horses, the cows. Laying up wintering hay for friends or Dad’s clients. Stories of hay.

After a minute, I asked her to look over the fields of wheat, see that hay block tower. “Do you think that the past field’s harvest is bound by those bales? Or does the tower contain the nourishment of a future winter’s sustenance?”

What is now?

How aware is the butterfly as she pollinates and delights? Does the moth know he is annoying the light? Might they be two parts of the same? Delighting in their impulsive attraction to touch; one dances in celebration; one crowds and circles like a stalker.

Received by the light, or rejected into darkness, what makes them different? Do they know they are alike?