We had planned to dawdle up the South Island towing a caravan, see my whanau in Nelson and then dawdle back again. But two nights ago I developed a dull ache in one of my molars which turned into a very bright ache indeed and within a very short time went on to qualify as a fully certified genius of an ache. Luckily my dentist started back from his holidays the following day and could see me first thing in the morning. One root canal later I am able to sleep without mainlining codeine, but will need to see him again in a week to get part two done: 90 minutes of staring at his ceiling and trying to reply to his chat with several thousand dollars worth of ironmongery in my mouth. So, we will be belting up the country, seeing some of the best and wisest people I know and belting home again. I'll try and keep you posted
This poem captures it perfectly Camino. The way forward, the way between things, the way already walked before you, the path disappearing and re-appearing even as the ground gave way beneath you, the grief apparent only in the moment of forgetting, then the river, the mountain, the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting you over the rain filled pass when your legs had given up, and after, it would be dusk and the half-lit villages in evening light; other people's homes glimpsed through lighted windows and inside, other people's lives; your own home you had left crowding your memory as you looked to see a child playing or a mother moving from one side of a room to another, your eyes wet with the keen cold wind of Navarre. But your loss brought you here to walk under one name and one name only, and to find the guise under which all loss can live; remember you were given that name every day along the way, remember you were greeted as such, and you neede
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