Another kilometer another kilometer down

Stones moving underfoot

Gravel shifting on the ground

How long before I trip?

“I’m half sick of flechas,”said Suzette.


“Full sick of paths ,roads ,tracks ,igual “

Twist through fincas ,olive groves and wind around

When they were up they were up

When they were down they were down.

Wheres the next flecha ,seen it yet?


Chasing flechas across highways

Searching walls and paving and posts

Losing flechas all the time

So remote .


Glimpses before they disappear

Another few kms  I fear

and its getting hot .

No pretty towns to pass through

No cool bars to rest a while

Only Spanish dogs to greet you with a snarl

or nip at heels from behind their gates.


And now no flechas here (nor any Lancelot to take my pack

or soothe my brow)

Past midday

Sun is searing hot

No help for it

This camino is all I’ve got .

(Thanks to The Lady of Shallot)