Day 15.
We have descended out of the mountains. Now rolling plains of wheat and grape vineyards surround us as far as the eye can see, every direction.
The sun shines now–brilliant Mediterranean sun, the sun of summer, and gone are the cool misty days.
And we have found our stride. We talk. We chatter. We argue. We listen. We find new places, and ways, to listen. The sun shines. My dad talks about his childhood, the Church, Facebook, the issues, the philosophies. The snails and creatures we see. The heads of wheat and barley nod in silent agreement. The white gravel trail extends forwards and backwards, silent, trodden by a million souls for a thousand years. What do we have in common with them, the early pilgrims of 1050, 1099?
My depression is lifting. The little pink tablets, no longer necessary, and I feel as I am lifting off and looking back behind me. A storm, occasionally–a thunderhead of Navarra sailing across my consciousness–a train of thinking that darkens for a moment, an evening. But now is the sun, and my legs want to stretch and walk twenty, thirty, a hundred, a thousand miles. But for now, it is gentle movement–a start of contemplation to this ten month sojourn.