Today I’ll just share a poem about my ascent from Tineo:
On the dusty road that clings to the mountain hill,
Hanging branches cast ambivalent shade,
And a scattershot of blinding flecks of light
Lies embedded in the dancing shadow.
So when I look out under the strobing sun,
My dazzled eyes can somehow scry
The spirit of the valley
Flickering and reforming as the light flashes.
Shimmering clouds, writhing ’round mountains
And engulfing whole hills
Look like a second flood,
With all the low places swallowed up
And valleys invisible.
The morning mist conjures dreams of fairy forests
And the old ones empowered to return
As long as the obscuring fog lingers,
As long as the rising sun allows.
I squint to make sense of the swimming shapes
And blink out the elven vision in my dawn-lit eyes:
The light-stories blur and clarify,
Until I see only a slowly waking valley.
Ahead the trail twists away,
Behind me the specter-clouds
Burn away in the daylight,
A violent shiver leaves me,
And the magic of the morning is forgotten.