One of the good things about walking a Camino, I heard somewhere, probably on the telly, is the opportunity to reflect. The quiet pace of the walk becomes meditative and if there was ever a time to do some soul searching it has to be now. The image below was taken last year, not today, but I am not sure it matters really. What matters is that I looked at it again today and looked at it differently.
That building, for instance, with its domestic structure and scale, looks so vulnerable, so perilously close to the overspill from the dam as it is gradually released. What we had to do as we walked right up to the weirdly compelling patterns in the falling water and climbed the hill to see the vast expanse of pent up water behind it, was trust a whole heap of invisible experts. But the scene does not inspire me with particular confidence. That road for example, it is not exactly well-maintained, is it? Emergency vehicles might struggle to get by in a hurry. Not that they could do a lot when they got there. This image of a walk uphill to the dam felt to me today like a pretty good metaphor for our times.
It also occurred to me today, as I pedalled in the rain, was that the reason I keep the spooky, dementor scarecrow standing as a sentinel, even though it fails to guard my peppers and courgettes, is because it is another kind of memento. Beyond the green and pleasant corner of the county I am lucky to live in there is pestilence and terrible injustice. When I am lulled into a false sense of security by the beauty of my small world and my many privileges, this scarecrow pulls me back. Where we all actually live is in the house at the foot of the dam.
Virtual Camino 