Epiphanies

An angel poking the three kings, don’t you just love this concept? To say nothing of the three Kings as bedfellows. Perhaps travelling together meant they had to rough it a bit. I wish an angel would poke the conscience of Theresa May and her bed fellows and open their eyes. ‘Oy you, leave it out!’

the beauty of peace

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This is the view from my window this New Year  in beautiful Onich near Fort William and I am mindful that the beauty of peace is not afforded to all.

re blogging Michael Rosen’s post.

A reminder from Wilfred Owen about the politics of war
TO BE READ TO YOURSELF OR TO YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY, WHEN YOU CAN’T GET TO THE RADIO OR TV IN TIME TO TURN OFF CAMERON OR FALLON BABBLING AWAY
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
[The Latin phrase was used at times of war in the 19th and early 20th centuries. It means roughly “It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country.”]

Peace in Asturias

The peace of a night to ourselves in a hotel with a swimming pool pervaded the whole of  today’s walk.  After ten hours on the Camino in 35 degrees of full sun, the huge lettering on the roof of the hotel looked like a mirage. Then you know that one step further would be a step too far.  The relief of a swim for aching muscles was not far short of miraclulous.

So we opted for a langourous pace today, removing boots at a beauty spot, Bufones de Arenillas, and picnicing for about an hour.  We have come along the coast to a rock cliff where thundering seas have made holes like geysers.  Nothing thunders today but an even mist covers everything.

We thought all our pilgrim friends would be well clear, but just before turning towards the coast again, in Buelna, we spotted a new albergue, just opened.  Outside was the metal cage with the orange canary, Richard.  I think he might have been sulking.  He was certainly very quiet.  Paquita had walked herself to a standstill and was staying put for a day.  I offered her the orange feather, but she was not amused.