This poem was published in November 2015 in The Newcastle Centre for the Literary Arts Review here.
To lie, to flop, to fling
Down on a bag.
Rich warmth – what warmth! –
In the word, green.
I wandered, not lonely as a cloud,
Full of sun and pulpo,
Empanadas and air.
Boiling over, a bubbling brook.
O Cebreiro, Sarria, Palas de Rei.
I escaped the world,
With just two friends,
And flew –
To music, words, the rise and fall of hills;
Fat friars lying flat, grassy chests and muddy knees.
Just green and brown and blue.
Golden cowbells which really ring,
Sheepdogs, used for herding sheep,
Milestones for a map.
Yellow shells into yellow arrows –
“Buen camino”, passed along the way.