The chapel

I leave the village early. Its still dark. A bird hovers above me as to say goodmorning mr. My steps Imageare slow. I walk alone just accompanied with the bird and the flowers. The flowers are beautiful. Not so bright colors this time of day. My feet are OK. Blisters? Yes, but not many. My feet have become accustomed to the habit of walking all day long for weeks now. I enter the open landscape. The view is wide and far. A village in the distance is two hours away. I walk. I watch my feet moving over the soil – step by step. On my way to Santiago. I feel my body. My hamstring is tense and hurts a little on every step. The sun rises bringing light and warmth. Later it will be a hot day. On entering the village I watch for the nearest caf. One cafe con leche and a bocadillo con keso. When finished I walk the narrow streets uphill. Passing an open window from where I hear music. Mozart. Someone is cleaning to the music of maestro Mozart. I keep on walking. Passing the village chapel. The service has just begun. People are inside. The door is open… I keep on walking. Over a hill onto the flatland. I hear the sound of a choire coming from the chapel. The sound of gregorian voices gliding and flowing from the chapel over the hill up onto the flatland. Along the path is a wooden bench. I sit down to rest. Peace. Thank you

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