[Camino Poem No. 30] The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver

This post is the 30th in a series of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 30th day), I walked 10km from Triacastela to Furela. 

I trudged the first two hours through light rain. Mid-morning, I passed a sign which read, 'art cafe, 10 mins off the trail'. I wanted to send a postcard to a friend, and thought that this might be a good place to buy one. But, in the mood I was in, 10 mins off the trail seemed too much effort.

Half a mile later, there was a a second sign to the same place. It added the promise of 'meditation and stillness'. I was on my way.

[Camino Poem No. 29] The Song of Hiawatha

This is the 29th of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 29th day), I walked 18km from Linares to Triacastela. 

A sluggish start after the 14-hour adventure of the yester-day. Occasional gaps in heavy mist revealed vistas of the valleys below. The road offered steep ups and downs before yielding to a steady descent into Triacastela, where I finished.

At a mid-morning stop, the poem.

Maybe I should write the introduction to my thesis in the same style?

(and oh, to live with rhythm such as this!)

[Camino Poem No. 28] Psalm 103

This is the 28th of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 28th day), I walked 46km from Camponaraya to Linares. 

Today, I parted ways with my forty-eight-hour walking companion. I waved goodbye to her in Villafranca, at around midday. Ahead lay 25km of steady climbing, as the path wound its way up and through a mountain pass. I planned to do maybe half of it, but somehow just kept on.

At 5pm, I stopped to meditate in a church. When I returned to the path, it was deserted. I continued, alone. Alone with the mountains. Alone, with the setting sun. Behind me was all purple haze and distant peaks. Below, the darkening fields. It was The Interim Time. I rounded a bend, and fell to my knees at the sight of the sun, massive and orange, infinite in its passing.