domingo, 10 de julio de 2011

Un día de julio en León

Con estos días tan estupendos de verano sin calor agobiante no paran de llegar peregrinos a León y, la mayoría, entran a visitar tan extraordinario edificio.

Desde la misma puerta de la catedral ya pueden seguir las flechas amarillas para no perderse por las calles de la ciudad.

Me hacen recordar las veces que pude recorrer el Camino durante días y días comenzando en los Pirineos.

Mi mujer y yo brindamos por todos los que están haciéndolo y porque tengan un Buen Camino.

Letter Marcial from Way of the fireflies

The look of chamois dawns cavities reached the soul of the hunter. A few feet away, hunched over and trembling with fear, simply looked on, expecting certain death. In well-lit rooms of the Hospital the Man was purging its ills and grumbling when a nurse approached her blue habit and looked. A large wound in her chest that oozed something dark and smelly. 
Is it going to change now?
I feel a great desire to do so. I do not know what to attribute. 
Something that you be seen and finally understood. 
Perhaps, wait events 
Will you not fight and assert yourself as they have always done? 
By this time, I feel tired.
Well, still resting and not fall asleep.
Leave the shotgun leaning against a rock hunter and his pack out a bag of nuts, grab a handful and it offers the animal. And the little chamois, without looking away from her face, starts to eat from her hand. After finishing the handful and lick her hand looks away and leave relaxed and happy.
Look at the hunter high limestone towers that surround it and the broad valley below, takes the gun and begins to descend toward the peoples of the fund. A decision has been taken in his heart, ended his life as a hunter. Sell ​​shotguns and everything related to hunting, look for another way of being and living.
Look at the piece the chamois collected; look at the valleys and rocks the end of the battle, glitter puff clouds and sun beams. The Man, the great hunter, the best times ever saw, and will not kill again, its fun, its selfishness, and be gone forever. Laugh rivers, the flowers are glad and rejoicing hares jump in their burrows. Heather leaves the boar and jumping to a great pond begins to batter was happy as ever.
Walk the pilgrim, the body crouched under the weight of the backpack, limp and dejected attitude steps. Looking at the flowers will not want to see anything or anyone, heard his footsteps without wanting to hear anything, feeling their pain without wanting to receive anything. 

Just walk and look, walk and all goes well. 

 Carta de Marcial está traducido con el google al inglés y pido perdón por ello, simplemente es algo para lectores de lengua inglesa que tienen interés por estos cuentos. Es parte de un nuevo cuento titulado 7 para Peio.