Journal Entries from the Camino Fisterra (3/4)
Today it was almost dark as I left the albergue at 8:30am. It was barely drizzling. I walked across a little bridge and along a road as the mountains materialized in the distance. Windmills stood atop them, whisking the gray clouds, weirdly silent for something so massive. Quixote wasn’t so crazy, I thought. Or else, maybe it’s just that I am, too.