11/Agosto/2008 night just to calm the gentleman, and little sleep for the other ...
addition to talking and being moved under my Cate, when an Italian girl squotendomi wanted to wake up, it took me a bit 'to understand that it was the alarm. Dall'albergue out a good coffee. Moonless night followed by a 'rosy dawn of the night against the leaden sky that fades, a sky streaked by dark clouds and wounded. On the night of croaking frogs and a meowing cat on a dump. 
The road is lined on the left of the runway where an equidistant planting of tall trees to the south it follows the way, illusory perfection that nature undermines the uneven growth of hair, I get artifacts all over, we could be anywhere. A cemetery. Then a fresh sound irrigation ditch along the way that I see groping. The sound of 'highway and' muffled by distance. Sound of their steps, the smell of hay and grass wet. Plain straight. Rustle of corn and singing birds. Then came the light, rediscover the colors little by little, the black 'asphalt, green culture, white sand under the soles, loose soil of maroon and yellow of the hay to dry under a blue sky gradually more . The rosy light I saw before, like a beacon in the night were perhaps only the lights of the city, Leon (?).
Then the wind rustling the branches, and crickets. These are the 7-green and yellow mosaic ordered. Infinite horizon of anything. strokes behind clouds. As I wake from a dream, now, the sun casts long shadow on my corn on the profile of the body and the backpack hanging. The variable frequency steps, the different tones, light soil on smooth, hard and disharmony which grows worse, if you strip the asynchronous ground on a stone. Among the rows of plane trees, in small groups, like the hazel stick that I carry with me.
The road is lined on the left of the runway where an equidistant planting of tall trees to the south it follows the way, illusory perfection that nature undermines the uneven growth of hair, I get artifacts all over, we could be anywhere. A cemetery. Then a fresh sound irrigation ditch along the way that I see groping. The sound of 'highway and' muffled by distance. Sound of their steps, the smell of hay and grass wet. Plain straight. Rustle of corn and singing birds. Then came the light, rediscover the colors little by little, the black 'asphalt, green culture, white sand under the soles, loose soil of maroon and yellow of the hay to dry under a blue sky gradually more . The rosy light I saw before, like a beacon in the night were perhaps only the lights of the city, Leon (?).
Then the wind rustling the branches, and crickets. These are the 7-green and yellow mosaic ordered. Infinite horizon of anything. strokes behind clouds. As I wake from a dream, now, the sun casts long shadow on my corn on the profile of the body and the backpack hanging. The variable frequency steps, the different tones, light soil on smooth, hard and disharmony which grows worse, if you strip the asynchronous ground on a stone. Among the rows of plane trees, in small groups, like the hazel stick that I carry with me. Change it all again, are the 9:30 one day without the usual sun, after the beam olazione back foot (always right). I still cloudy and cool in the morning until Mansillas de las Mulas finally find where the batteries for the digital and elastic bandages for my poor bruised ankle. From here onwards, 'white slope along the track of national carettera. Without shade or water, up to 4 km Villamoros. The presence of the city 'can be heard despite the absence of many kilometers, traffic, trucks .... Arius, along with Archaveja the usual way, I have no water and the fountain and 'route. Continue to the next village, where I Valdelafuente Sun beds to rest, even here, 'the source and' route. After a short rest to start meeting a man in his fifties and we continue together to Leon and his 7 km in the suburbs. We cross the road bypassing the gard-rail at a point where cars sfracciano over 100, then a bridge, the houses ... At first we put the ice bar, I was at his foot to the leg. Rest for the stretch that will lead us utime 'all'albergue nuns. A tour of Leon, a few words exchanged with more or less well-known faces, with a German dinner. At 21:30 the doors will close and will hold a mass in the nearby chapel. We drink something together to English I still find it around. I'm tired, across the yard of concrete, to the longed-for rest. Before going to bed a couple of beds known from my boyfriend Torino, Simon, and after 4 stops you 'had to stop for tendinitis. The leg hurts a lot and I am confident that it was difficult to even take the bus because of the pain he felt. 72 hours of rest, the response of the doctor. Now I can sleep. 
0 comments:
Post a Comment