This afternoon I went for a walk around the small town of Triacastela, and sat down on a path under the setting sun. I played with the pebbles and dirt beneath my feet, feeling the sun’s warmth play upon my hair and cheeks. I felt the coarse sand and grass against my fingertips as I drew words and pictures. I sat there for several minutes, staring at the ground, then at my feet. I stretched out my legs and reached for my toes, bowing further towards the earth.
I sat up, rose to my feet, and started slowly back down the track, only to stop momentarily against a fence as I heard the slow jingle of cow bells approaching. Three dairy cows sauntered towards me, swinging their short horns from side to side as they walked. They paused in their path to look at me. I stared back. We exchanged snorts of sorts before they continued on. Their utters hung heavy and swung in rhythm with their strong hips and tails.
I watched them pass, and headed back to my home for the night: a top bunk, my sleeping bag, a warm sweater, and the stillness of the mountains.
Tomorrow I will follow the path of that setting sun, forever heading west.
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