Where the Cantabrian He has not yet left his childhood there is a walk from those summer and mid -afternoon, between farms and huge forests. The pepper. Nacho Run and fly. The camera is a greyhound tied to your neck. So many things are seduced! Blessed nine years. Now don't run, if to. His gesture observes the result of the latest shutters. He has a wet and bright smile, one of those huge socks that illuminate him so much.
Of the path you now accompany me, I especially like a bay. His smell for time on an old stone wall of which I don't know his name. I think it has been wanting to say something for years, Like the frog that makes a hat on him. It is as small as a finger yolk, Maybe under hides a lagomorph. Although the latter I do not promise anyone. If someone sees the bug, please, Check if you have a rabbit underneath!
The pepper
It occurs to me to think that, perhaps, The amphibian is the shelter of a stony soul. The, why not, The granite, The immortal body of each walker's thought. Anyway, The frog is not dumb and it started. Nacho managed to photograph her.
We keep walking between apple trees and wild plums. August smells like a chimney. The sidewalk now passes among the crines of the Xudreiro River And the kind trot of a bay horse, that every time we walk here you get to greet us. We call him a horse and he has no frog, Neither thought, Ni Alma Petrea. It only accompanies us to the step until the beginning of the eucalyptus. There is also a dog and an owner looking for it, although I think that it is the same is the other way around. She has red chapetas, Cacheloe air and a mandil under the edge of the chest.
We keep walking between apple trees and wild plums. August smells like a chimney
If the mood accompanies you, You will be soon between undeas and tritones in the Poza da Ferida. It is the place at the top of the mountain where everything is born. The light winding from the translucent leaves of the oaks, watering the smells of Mount Gallego with the water that is born bleeding from the heart of the wound. This fall forms a waterfall that breaks to search the sea soon. It is the perfect place to take a really magical bath, With the close presence of the wolf. In instinctively we will look for water, with a few struggles, The opposite shore. The baptismal bath will make us feel mimetic between the flight of some odonatas.
In the middle of the afternoon, The house smells like a snack-cena. I open the window, Eucalyptus ronean with that characteristic way of doing so when the wind wicked them. While Nacho tells me the legend of God Pan, Silence does not break and I continue in the window. I haven't seen the forest goblin for two years, THE CORZO. Two females and a young machete used to leave about twenty meters from my window.
Poza da Ferida is the perfect place to take a really magical bath, With the close presence of the wolf
A couple of days ago I saw a female with her corcino in a meadow that looks out to the sea. The mother seemed to look for whales on the horizon, The breeding ran from one place to another.
Galicia, and specifically the High rias from Nursery to The boatman, It has really out of the ordinary places and far from any tourist guide. Roads where the footprint of the pilgrim is strange, the people are cool as grass and the forests have eyes that, among ferns, they will appear in our path. I like the places that are not yet written and the writings that have no places. Perhaps it is the case of the path that is born in the parish of The Waterfront In the Council of Four.
