Going out for a run.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Pajariel trails
4ªC Sunny. Frosty in the shade of Monte Pajariel.
45 minutes 23 seconds.

I first ran this route 18 winters ago and I’ve run it hundreds of times since.

Listened to some Roy Harper at the weekend and I was feeling somewhat more sensitive than usual. Poetry breeds poetry whatever its form and although there might not be much poetry in my words there was plenty of poetry out there today, in the landscape and in the people that populate it.

Same old landscape, same old people.

18 years and only the bridge and the course of the river have changed.

The basket weaver sat on a kerb carefully laying out his reeds to dry in the morning sunshine.

The mad old woman marched past huffing and puffing through the allotments with sacks of something or other piled high in her wheelbarrow. She shouted at me and I shouted back.

Heard a distant cooing in Toral de Merayo. At first I thought it was a bird but then I realized it was the knife sharpener’s flute calling for custom.

And there’s this generation that refuses to disappear.

Until one day it disappears.

I’ve never ever run listening to music and never will. That doesn’t mean that a soundtrack won’t pop up now and again.