Yesterday I saw two women in two different places carrying scythes. One was a real grim reaper scythe with a long handle and the other was like the rusty one in your grandpa’s shed. You don’t really see scythes anymore. I had to look hard in my brain for the right word. Both women were also wearing aprons. In Spain they still do that, even with their jeans. That’s something else you don’t see much any more.
Most things slip imperceptibly into the past and nobody notices the exact moment they’re gone. Who was the last person to use a rotary dial telephone? Nobody knows. Those were fun to dial. If you knew something was happening for the last time, you’d pay more attention. I wish I knew the last time my daughter sat on my lap. I would’ve held on tighter.
This is the last day on our pilgrimage to Santiago. We’ve been heading for this destination since the 24th of February. Our route is drawn in black ink across 23 pages in our maps of France and Spain and a dot every few centimetres shows where we’ve stayed. Today we’ll get to the final dot. Tomorrow I’ll wake up and this journey will be in our past. I’ve got a lump in my throat and am holding on as tightly as I can.
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