Alas, poor Castilla y Leon

Salamanca, Ávila, Segovia (where we are now) are passing by in a blur of pink sandstone buildings; low, dry, treeless hills; and wide, bright blue skies. Here on the plains of Castilla y Leon we are spending our last few days in the provinces of Spain.

These cities are what we imagined Spain would be like: hot, dry, ancient, castles, cathedrals, religious artifacts (the boney finger of Santa Teresa de Jesus on display in Ávila), Roman ruins (or not ruins as the case is for the incredible aqueduct in Segovia), red wine, grilled meats.

And yet, I wonder if we will even remember them, piled up as we are with thoughts of visiting our friends in the Netherlands and then of home– in fact, very much of home.

It boils down, I think, to this: going home already feels very much like starting fresh, or at least with a fresh perspective. That’s hackneyed and expected and not even completely true, but the feelings still exist. It is probably healthy to let them exist . . . until they don’t anymore.

Which will be soon enough.

(Prize to the first person to get the Shakespeare reference– MK and JS don’t get to play)

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