Facebook, in its infinite wisdom and memory, reminded me last week that it’s already been “one year ago today” that I came home with my very first tattoo: my Camino shell.
The 3am crack of thunder woke everyone in the room. Not that anyone said anything, of course. But I could hear the change in breath, the awareness as ten pilgrims listened to the rain outside the two single-pane windows and thought about the coming day. We were in Astorga, a city of moderate size tuckedContinue reading “Mulled Wine and Hailstorms”