Pilgrimage
I
It was his *Camino.
But without the superstition.
Week after week,
month after month,
he travelled the pilgrims’ path
searching for answers,
searching for clarity.
Sometimes, on hands and knees.
At other times erect:
in tune with the landscape - where oast houses,
like helmeted warriors on horseback,
ride across the landscape.
Trees lay like dead cattle in the fields
where secret ponds
were glimpsed through brushwood.
Walking through the hills and chalk
he kissed the earth.
Saw poplars move like dancers.
II
Friends would join him on his journeying.
But did not need his long pilgrimage.
He would return to the hostel each night:
hungry, and inwardly refreshed.
III
At last he arrived at Canterbury.
Came down off the hill,
thinking with his feet.
His journey was over.
*The pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela,
North West Spain (El Camino de Santiago)
© Dennis Evans FRSA