Camino.

I walk past houses , window boxes with bright flowers, neat gardens, TV screens that flicker  behind net curtains, warm, comfortable, these are homes, how cosy they seem to me, cosy and impossible.

I take a short cut across Queens Park, early evening, the children have gone home, just a few stragglers remain, the rain patters on my umbrella, my feet stride along the pathways, each step echoes with a memory, so many days spent here in this place, so many experiences here. I head to Salusbury road, I am meeting a friend,we sit and talk about where we have been & what we have seen, accompanied by rich red wine. We talk about India & Gods, about life & passions and where we find them. We talk about the people that take up the space in our hearts and those that we cannot find room for. We chatter away for the entire evening until we are the only customers remaining in the Restaurant, then drive home through damp streets. When I get back home I book a plane ticket and begin to pack my rucksack, I need to move on again.

I leave London on Monday, afternoon, the carnival is in full swing, the weather is damp, the streets awash with rain & rubbish, my plane rises above the cloud and takes an arc across the bay of Biscay & to the south of France, an hour or two later I arrive as the sun begins to set in a sleepy little town, St Jean Pied de Port, it is still August, just. Tomorrow will be September &  I will be waking up with the sun in the Basque country.


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